


Lyrium Ghost

by GarnetSeren



Series: Red Haired Mages Saga [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blue Hawke, Canon-Typical Violence, Crew as Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Soulmates, Purple Hawke, Slavery, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 54,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetSeren/pseuds/GarnetSeren
Summary: When two worlds collide on a fateful night, what legacy will it leave? Especially when the two worlds are so vastly different... or are they? Is there more than first meets the eye? Are appearances deceiving?A retelling of the epic, twisted and often confused romance of Fenris & Female(mage)Hawke.***FYI written in UK English, not US.***





	1. The Man in Black (Hawke PoV)

The night was hot and heavy, the smell of blood and charred flesh hanging like miasma in the humid air. No stars or moon shone through the thick, black smoke that hung over lowtown, thanks to the never sleeping foundries. Even with it's brightly coloured banners, the alienage was one of the most desolate and disheartening places in the city, and considering she lived in a hovel not a hundred feet away, in the grimiest part of the lowtown market, that was really saying something. Their night had started out sedate enough, a few quiet drinks at the Hanged Man, before a contact from her days as a smuggler came barrelling through the tavern's door with a job. An easy job, apparently, for a scittish dwarf new to the surface. Naturally, it hadn't turned out as planned. Biting back a sigh, Marian Hawke sent an arrow straight through a hapless attacker's neck.

"Sister, I could use some help," Carver called to her.

Hawke glanced in the direction of her younger brother, a snarl escaping her lips as she saw he was surrounded by a group of their attackers. Without hesitation, she sent a well aimed fireball at the nearest three, their agonised cries joining that of their brethren, as Carver cut the remainder down. As the last fell, he wiped a smear of blood from his face with his cuff, before sending her a tight lipped smile of thanks.

"Maker Hawke! You do get results," Varric chuckled, as he hefted his beloved crossbow onto his back.

She smiled down at the dwarf, who was fast becoming her best friend. The moment she had met the handsome rogue, Hawke had a feeling that their lives would somehow be intertwined from there on in. It hadn't been instant attraction, despite what a good looking man Varric was. No... it was something else. A shared out look on life, his easy wit that matched her own so well, and the fact he hadn't batted an eyelid when he saw her cast a spell for the first time, instead of taking an enemy down with her ever present bow. In fact, he had grinned widely, and produced a fire enchanted bow for her as a gift the very next day.

"What can I say," Hawke shrugged. "I like doing things in style."

Before anything more could be said, her faithful mabari; Bryn let out a low, menacing growl. His teeth were barred and his hackles raised. Warily, Hawke let her gaze drift in the direction he was staring, already pooling a fire spell in her right hand, even as she notched an arrow. Beside her, Varric unslung Bianca from his back, clocking a bolt in readiness. Out the corner of her eye, Hawke noticed Carver had already fallen into an attack position, and next to him, Aveline was raising her shield. A wicked smile threatened to pull on Hawke's lips as she regarded her fellow redhead. The guards-woman never failed to launch into an attack with a shield-bash, and there was something about that consistency that Hawke had really learnt to appreciate, through the year they'd worked together for Athenril. Then the most underwhelming looking mercenary that she'd ever seen swaggered into view... which was saying something, considering some of the gangs they'd come up against during their first year in Kirkwall. His armour was dull and lack lustre, a pointless cape hung from his neck, his brown hair was greasy and balding, his stubble was scraggy and unkempt. To Hawke, he looked like a villain from one of those awful books Carver liked to read when they were children. Her brother obviously thought the same, for she caught a twitch of a smile threatening to pull at his mouth.

"I don't know who you are, friend. But you made a serious mistake coming here," the mercenary stated, in a voice that sounded like it downed razor blades with cheap whiskey. "Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing, now!"

Hawke and Varric exchanged glances, both rolling their eyes at the unoriginal line. However, before the usual sequence could commence... mainly idiots trying to attack them, and then dying by either blade, arrow, jaws or magic... something unexpected happened. A figure, presumable the lieutenant, stumbled down the steps of the alienage. The man swayed on his feet, clutching at the wall to keep some semblance of balance. A vivid trail of blood was left in his wake, and as he lurched into the flickering torch light, Hawke could see how the blood spurted from a wicked slash across his throat.

"Captain..." he gurgled, before falling face first to the unforgiving stone floor. Presumably dead.

"Impressive entrance," Varric muttered, deadpan. Just loud enough for Hawke to hear.

She was about to hum her agreement, when another shadow appeared at the top of the stairway. Hawke's gaze flickered to the newcomer, though her arrow remained trained on the mercenary captain. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched the shadow fully emerge, revealing... quite frankly... the most stunning man she had ever seen. The first thing she noticed, was his lithe build, followed by his olive complexion and a shock of snow white hair, cut in shaggy layers that came to the nape of his neck, with a fridge that fell over his eyes. The next was that his elegant, tapered ears that clearly marked him as an elf. When the torch light illuminated his handsome face, Hawke saw that his eyes were the most soulful green she'd ever seen. He was dressed in a long, black coat that reached his calves, it's high collar reaching the ends of his hair. Silver metal arm guards attached to black, fingerless gloves, and matching leg guards covered black trousers and boots. Beneath the coat, he wore a black shirt, and an ornately woven sash belt. Also in black. Intricate, white markings graced his throat and chin, and Hawke couldn't help but wonder shamefully how far down the swirling tattoo-like markings went. As he moved closer, she noticed that the markings were also on the parts of his fingers that his gloves revealed. The picture was completed by an enormous sword strapped to his back, one that put even Carver's great-sword to shame. He looked like something her dearly missed sister; Bethany, would have read about in her beloved fairy tales. Quite frankly, he was stunning.

"What is it about Warriors and their swords?" Varric whispered, eyeing the weapon.

"I'm sure Isabela would say compensation," Hawke whispered back, though her eyes never left the man dressed in black.

"Your men are dead, and your trap has failed," the elf said to the mercenary. "I suggest running back to your master whilst you can."

If she were the swooning type, Hawke was sure Varric would have had to catch her. The man's voice was delicious. Deeper than she had expected for his lithe frame, gravelly but with a smooth, almost caramel like quality. She had thought Varric's voice was delightfully mesmerising, the elf's was positively sinful. For a heartbeat, the elf's eyes locked onto hers. In the back of her mind, Hawke cursed the fact she was meeting this vision of a man, dressed in her leather and chain-mail robes and leggings. The one's Carver had affectionately dubbed 'The Robes of the Pretender', since she strived so hard not to look like the mage she was. With her shoulder length auburn hair tied back into a loose, low ponytail, and her make up no doubt smeared from when she wiped the blood off her face earlier. If the Maker existed, which she doubted, Hawke decided he must have a sense of humour. A very bad one. However, her wandering thoughts came to an abrupt end, when the mercenary lay a heavy hand on the elf's shoulder. She saw the tightening of his jaw, and the narrowing of his eyes in reaction to the contact. Without thought, Hawke inched her aim slightly to the right, to give her a clear shot of the mercenary over the elf's shoulder.

"You're going no where, slave," the mercenary captain spat.

Something snapped inside Hawke upon hearing those words. Normally, she was the one of their group to be cautious, to carefully assess the situation, and only reluctantly kill if no other choice was left. This time, her body acted on rage and instinct. Without hesitation, she let the arrow fly, only just reigning in the fireball that so desperately wanted to follow. At the same moment, the elf whirled around to face the mercenary. He glowed, actually, physically _glowed_ blue, and thrust his hand straight through the man's chest. Just as her arrow embedded into the man's neck.

"I'm not a slave," he growled, letting the now lifeless body drop to the floor.

Hawke was vaguely aware of the others around her. Aveline hadn't let her guard down, though her eyes were widened in surprise. Carver was staring, a little slacked jawed, at the elf. Bryn whined, tilting his head to the side, as he often did when trying to figure something out. Varric simply muttered: "Well shit." A phrase that Hawke was staring to think of as the dwarf's trade mark. She on the other hand, was regarding the elf carefully as she lowered her bow. She had never seen anyone do what he'd just done, and she was certain it was not magic. At least, not any sort of magic her father had taught her and Bethany, and there wasn't the familiar pull of the Fade, which she always felt when another mage cast near her. It was a little unnerving, and quite intriguing. Much like the man himself.

 


	2. Pretty Green Eyes (Fenris PoV)

As the blood steadily dripped from his fingers, Fenris regarded the red haired archer with quiet interest. There was something about her. _Something_ that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He studied her intently, taking in her brown leather and chain mail armour. Her shoulder length red hair pulled practically out of her way, the vivid green of her eyes, and the speckles of blood that splattered her face. Some smudged into ruddy stains and others standing out starkly against her porcelain skin. Even scowling as she currently was, the corner of her rouged mouth seemed to be quirking upwards, and he got the impression the woman was someone who was usually smiling. In short, Fenris thought she was rather attractive, and that was before she had buried an arrow in the mercenary's throat. He was more than a little appreciative of her aim, for he was sure a lesser archer would have shot him instead.

"I apologise," he offered as a greeting. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so numerous."

As casually as he could, Fenris walked passed the woman, and her small band of companions. He could feel the weight of her eyes following him as he did. At one time, the feeling would have brought bile to his throat. Just the other day, he had found himself holding back the urge to lash out, when eyes had followed his every move around the lowtown market. Her gaze however, didn't seem to have any malice to it. In truth, he thought he saw interest in her verdant eyes as he passed. Trying not to appear as apprehensive as he felt, Fenris turned his back to them, as if he were looking out over the smoking skyline of the foundries. However, his keen ears picked up every slight movement any of the group made. Staying alert, in case they were just another one of Danarius' ploys.

"You were responsible for this?" the woman asked.

Her voice was softer than he had expected, both worldly and gently. It was an unusual combination. She sounded surprised, not that Fenris could fault her, he had just thrown her into a hunters' trap, after all. Even if he hadn't expected Danarius to have sent such a force. However, there wasn't even a trace of anger when she spoke, something Fenris had certainly been expecting after his revelation. Cautiously, he glanced over his shoulder at her.

"I'm the reason you are here, yes," he replied, carefully. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her. "My name is Fenris. These men were Imperial bounty hunters, seeking to recover a magister's lost property... namely, myself."

A dark look flashed through the woman's eyes, and for a moment, Fenris thought he could see a brief flicker of flames halo her. Though he dismissed that outright, for it was gone in the blink of an eye. It must have been a trick of the torch light. As was the look in her verdant gaze, which had gone neutral once more. It took Fenris a moment to realise, but he was starring at her eyes, and he felt like he couldn't look away. He was drawn to their emerald depths.

"Hawke," she said, a small smile quirking the corner of her mouth. "Aveline, Carver, Varric..." she nodded to the two other humans and the dwarf. The large mabari Fenris had seen fighting at her side, trotted over and sat by her feet. "And Bryn." She ruffled the hound's ears affectionate. "What were they trying to do exactly?" she asked, nodding at the corpses that littered the alienage.

"They were trying to lure me into the open," Fenris replied. "Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone." He shrugged, fighting to ignore the slight flutter of panic that rose in his chest at the admittance. "Thankfully, Anso chose wisely."

The woman's brow furrowed. "If you couldn't fight them, why not run?"

"There comes a time when you must stop running," he said, omitting the fact he had run out of places he could think to run to. "When you turn and face the tide."

She nodded, thoughtfully, before tilting her head to the side. Much to Fenris' amusement, her mabari followed suit, and it was only years of training that let him mask the urge to smile.

"It seems a lot of effort to go to, for one slave," Hawke said at length.

"It is," he agreed.

One of her eyebrows arched at his answer, her gaze quickly falling to the markings left visible on his neck and chin. Inwardly, Fenris flinched. He hated how another's gaze would undoubtedly fall to those blasted markings. The ugly, agonising truth of the pet he once was. However, her gaze, though curious, wasn't lecherous. It didn't lingering. It seemed that the moment her eyes fell to his markings, they were raised again and looking him straight in the eye. Something very few people had ever done in his life.

"But you weren't an ordinary slave." It was more a statement than a question, and though said politely, he could hear her grit her teeth on the last word.

"I image I look strange to you, I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well," he stated, to which she nodded. "Without them, I'd still be a slave."

Her gaze drifted back to the corpses. "If they really were trying to recapture you, then I'm happy we could help."

"Bastards got what they deserved," muttered the male warrior, not quite under his breath.

The other two nodded their agreements, whilst the mabari gave a small growl, as if adding it's own opinion. Fenris was taken aback. He hadn't expected such a sentiment. It made him... hopeful.

"I have met few in my travels who sought anything more than personal gain," he admitted, inclining his head in thanks. Though he felt suddenly hesitant to voice his next question. "If... If I may ask, what was in the chest? The one they kept in the house."

The dwarf shook his head. "Empty."

Fenris' brows furrowed, he had been so sure _something_ would have been in that chest. He wasn't exactly sure what. Perhaps a clue to his past, or a hint of a way to rid himself of the markings. Anything that would have been helpful. That it was just another rouse...

"I suppose it was too much to as for, even so... I had to know."

"You were expecting something else?" the woman... Hawke asked.

"I was, but I shouldn't have," he admitted. "It was bait, nothing more."

For several heartbeats, she regarded him quietly, her gaze intent but not unkind. Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of her full lips. "You didn't have to lie to get my help," she stated, matter-of-fact. "You could have just asked."

He blinked in surprise, and also a little in disbelief. He had never encountered someone like this woman. Anso really had done him a great service when he found Hawke and her friends. For the first time in three long years, Fenris felt that maybe the tide was finally turning in his favour. Though only if they agreed to help him.

"That remains to be seen," he replied, evenly.

Calmly, he bent down to the corpse of the mercenary captain, and rummaged through the pouch clipped to his belt. In a matter of moments, his fingers closed around a piece of folded parchment. He drew it from the confines of the the pouch, and quickly unfolded it. His upper lip curled in a sneer, as he regarded the swirling pen work on the page. It meant nothing to him, a jumble of impossible symbols he could not fathom. Yet another thing Danarius still denied him. However, the broken wax seal was more than recognisable to him. He discarded the parchment with disgust, at least somewhat confident that Hawke and her group would assume he had read something to his distaste, rather than his distaste coming from his own illiteracy. Thankfully, Fenris knew where his former master would be staying. There was an old mansion in hightown, that he had seen many hunters enter and leave. A place that he had been giving a wide berth, until now. The seal simply confirmed that the magister had joined them.

"It is as I thought," he said, rising from his knees. "My former master accompanied them to the city. I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. I will... need your help."

The words were difficult to say. Dependency was not something Fenris found easy, admitting he needed help was an uneasy task. And though Hawke had stated he had only need ask to get her to assist him in the first place, he truly doubted that were true. People were not that nice and friendly... were they? To his surprise, Hawke nodded immediately, though her eyes quickly snapped to her companions. Her gaze evidently asking each of them their opinion. All of them nodded without hesitation. Even the mabari gave a bark, as if agreeing. Another smile formed on Hawke's lips, though he noticed that this one seemed to have an edge to it. Her verdant eyes took on a hard glint, as she regarded the corpses coldly.

"If it means killing more slavers..." the female warrior stated, her eyes were as hard as Hawke's.

"We'll help," Hawke affirmed, her gaze softening slightly as she met his eyes again.

"I will find a way to repay you, I swear it," Fenris promised. "The magister is staying at a mansion in hightown. Meet me there as soon as you can, we must enter before morning."

 


	3. Shadows (Hawke PoV)

They only paused on their trek up to hightown, to grab a few extra potions from Varric's room at the Hanged Man. Well... bar taking out a group of Guardsman Pretenders that accosted them in hightown's market, much to Aveline's grim satisfaction. Upon reaching the mansion district, Hawke spotted Fenris immediately, despite the fact the elf had secluded himself in the shadows. His shock of white hair was still more than a little visible, which prompted her to wonder why he didn't wear a hood for occasions such as this.

"No one has left the mansion, and I've heard nothing within," he stated, as they joined him in the shadows. "Danarius may know we are here. I wouldn't put it passed him."

A mirthless snort escaped Carver, and Bryn gave a small growl, sentiments Hawke found herself agreeing with.

"I could stand to know little more about this Danarius," she stated, her voice low and close to the elf's ear. She bit back a smile, when she noticed it twitched.

"He is a magister of the Tevinter Imperium," Fenris replied.

"Oh, is that all," Varric quipped, leaning against Hawke's hip. "Nothing to worry about then."

She spared the dwarf a wicked grin. She loved how he often voiced her own opinions, which was often.

"There, he is a wealthy mage with great influence. Here, he is but a man, who sweats like any other," Fenris continued.

Her smile faltered when she heard how the elf almost snarled the word: 'mage'. It sent warning bells tolling in her mind. Carver caught her eye, his brow furrowed. Obviously, he had also heard the change of tone. She offered her brother a raised eyebrow and shrugged slightly in response, a gesture that meant 'wait and see', to which he nodded. No matter how many times they butted heads, or how much of a prig he could be, Hawke knew that Carver would always have her back. Just as she did his. They may not always like each other, but they loved each other regardless.

"Nothing like a prepared mage," she grinned, trying to hide her uneasiness.

"What could possibly go wrong?" Carver drawled, though his eyes flicked to Fenris and back.

She understood the silent request to be careful, something Hawke fully agreed with. As a rule, she wasn't one to unleash her magic where unfamiliar eyes could see. Unless it was absolutely necessary, a trait her father had drilled into her and Bethany from a very early age. It was the reason why she was so proficient with a bow. Her father had insisted that all his children could fight with normal weapons, and both sisters had opted for a the ranged weapon. Though, since coming to Kirkwall, Hawke had picked up how to fight with daggers in close quarters. Thanks to an elven contact they'd run with whilst working for Athenril; Tom Wise.

"I do not fear death, but that does not mean we should be reckless," Fenris stated, his olive eyes appraising her.

"A wise sentiment," Aveline agreed.

With that, the six of them slunk out of the shadows and towards the mansion in question. Varric picked the lock in a matter of heartbeats, and cautiously, they entered the gloomy building. A wave of apprehension washed over Hawke as they picked their way across broken floor tiles. There was the definite hum of magic in the air, something heavier than the sense of another mage, something darker. Hawke was sure it would only spell trouble.

 


	4. Irony (Fenris PoV)

Gone. Danarius was gone. Fled. Leaving nothing but shades and arcane horrors behind for them to kill. Fenris leant his head back against the stone of the mansion's outer wall, trying to suck in what little air his tightening lungs would allow.

She was a mage. The red haired archer was a damned mage, and the thought reverberated around his mind endlessly. He knew there was something about her, and he couldn't believe he'd not realised, until she had sent a fireball right passed him. Sure, it had been directed at a group of Shades, and at the dwarf's request. But she was still a mage. Something he had been fleeing for three long years, and now, to his horror, Fenris found himself indebted to another. True, he hadn't seen her use blood magic, nor had she tried to pull the lyrium from his veins, but she was still a mage. He might have smirked at the irony in the situation, if he didn't feel so angry about it. His markings began to thumb, in a way that signified a mage was near. In this instance, he knew it meant her; Hawke. His hands balled into fists as he waited for her approach, determined to confront her about her deception.

"Are you alright?"

The softly spoken question drained the urge to fight from his body, almost instantaneously. His hands relaxed slightly, and he turned his head to face her. Hawke's verdant eyes looked at him in concern, which surprised him. He was an acquaintance of a few hours, and she already seemed worried about him. Fenris sighed, shutting his eyes and leant his head back against the wall again. She was a mage. Any concern she was showing, obviously hid an ulterior motive. Her help was going to come at a price, he just wasn't sure how high.

"It never ends," he replied. "I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul." He pushed off the wall, rounding on her. "And now I find myself of yet another mage."

To her credit, Hawke didn't so much as flinch as he closed the distance between them. Meeting his gaze unwaveringly, even though she had witnessed him rip the heart from someone's chest not hours before. The only hint of her uneasiness, was that the concern in her eyes had shifted to wariness, as if she expected him to strike any moment. Oh, how he wanted to. Mage's were a stain on the world, twisting and tainting everything they touched. And even though she'd helped him, he doubted this woman was any different. She was a mage, to be evil was in her blood. There was no chance she was different from all the others he had encountered, even though she pretended to be.

"Speak your mind," she said evenly, her eyes remaining locked on his.

"I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realised sooner what you really were. Tell me, what manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?"

To his amazement, a smile formed on her rouged lips, a slight twinkle entering her verdant eyes.

"I suspect you wouldn't believe me if I told you," she replied, almost glibly. "So you tell me, what do you think I seek?"

He was taken aback by her response. For several heartbeats, he regarded her silently, though he found no hint of the usual malice or deceit which he usually ascribed to mages. As much as it pained him to acknowledge, this woman didn't seem like those back in the Imperium. Though Fenris knew, looks were so often deceiving. Her geniality could be no more than an act, such things usually were.

"You are skilled, I know that much," he said eventually.

It seemed like Hawke had a retort ready, though before she could voice it, her other companions left the mansion. There was a growl from the mabari, and the male warrior pushed himself bodily between Fenris and Hawke. For a moment, he wondered if this man was her lover, for the warrior had seemed none too pleased by the close proximity they had a moment before.

"If you have a problem with my sister, you have a problem with me," the man grit out, his eyes narrowed.

_'So, not a lover'_

The thought got no further, nor could Fenris ponder why it had even occurred to him to think it. For the distinct click of a crossbow bolt being clocked filled the silence. That was swiftly followed by the subtly slide of a swords being drawn from it's scabbard. He tensed, expecting an attack that never came.

"Easy, everyone," Hawke murmured, her hand coming to rest on her brother's shoulder. "Nothing is wrong, is there?"

Her last words were directed at him, her gaze soft and unaccusing. Fenris could feel the tips of his ears beginning to burn, undoubtedly a blush would have been noticeable, if not for the darkness of the surrounding night. How she managed to illicit such a reaction from him, he did not know... it must have been some sort of magic he hadn't encountered before. However, he had to give her credit, albeit begrudgingly. For a mage, she seemed to invoke great loyalty from her companions. Though that could have also been down to magic as well, blood magic was good at manipulating the mind. But despite his misgivings, Fenris knew he owed her a debt. Much to his chagrin. If not for her magic, he doubted he would have been able to take on so many shades. The knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I imagine I seem ungrateful. If so, then I apologise, because nothing could be further from the truth," he admitted, trying to keep his tone even. "I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised."

He unclipped the pouch from his belt, and offered it out to them, though is eyes remained on Hawke. The mage slipped out from behind her bother, and hesitantly accepted the bag. Fenris knew the coins should be more than adequate to pay them, the weight of the pouch was certainly substantial. Though Hawke still seemed unsure of accepting it, for her eyes slid to the dwarf's. Fenris watched as the pair regarded each other silently, and it almost seemed if they were conversing with just their eyes. It was a little unnerving, though at least it didn't seem as if something magical was behind that.

"Should you.. find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it," he found himself saying.

To his surprise, Fenris found that he actually meant it. Though surely, it was only so he could keep an eye on this... mage. There was no way he was actually intrigued by the woman.

 


	5. Benefit of Doubt (Hawke PoV)

Hawke's gaze snapped back to Fenris. Just moments ago, he was all but threatening her for being a mage, now he was offering his services. To say she was surprised, was a bit of an understatement. He was an excellent blade, she'd seen that much for herself, and though he spoke of his distaste and distrust of mages, Hawke couldn't really fault him. From the small snippets he'd revealed about his past, Fenris was the only person she'd met to have a valid reason for hating those graced with magic. It still irked her that he tarred all mages with the same brush, it would be like her looking down on him for being an elf. But still, he'd remained fairly polite with her so far, and hadn't threatened to turn her in. Which was always a plus in her book. Perhaps he was only offering as a way to keep an eye on her, and it wouldn't be such a bad idea to keep an eye on him. It helped he was so pleasing to look at too...

She exchanged another brief look with Varric, who nodded. Undoubtedly, the dwarf was having similar thoughts, he often did. The weight of Fenris' coin pouch was heavy in her hand still, and she was seriously considering giving it back to him. It was true they'd originally accepted the job from Anso for the coin, but if Fenris had come to them and explained, Hawke would have helped him regardless. Plus, if he was going to be an ally of sorts, it felt all the more wrong to take his money. But was it a good idea to accept his offer? He was a mostly unknown quantity, and there was more than just herself that Hawke was wary for. An idea flittered into her mind, one Carver wouldn't be too pleased about, but one that should help her decide one way or another. If they were to work with Fenris, there needed to be some level of trust, even if it was minimal. Cautiously, she nodded towards a stone bench that sat several feet away, barely illuminated by the flickering torch light. He caught her meaning, inclining his head before leading the way. But before she could follow, Carver's hand fell heavily on Hawke's shoulder. She offered him and their friends a slight smile, hoping her next move would be a suitable compromise for them.

“Wait for me by the stairs?”

Reluctantly, her brother nodded. Aveline gave her a whispered word of caution, that Bryn backed up with a whine, before trotting after her. Varric was the last to leave her side, squeezing her hand as he passed.

“Bianca will have him in her sights, just in case,” he promised.

Touched by their worry, Hawke silently joined Fenris on the bench. He sat stiffly, as if unable to relax. Once again, she didn't take it as a slight. Well, not one directed at her personally, at any rate. Still, she avoided making eye contact, choosing to look out over the lush courtyard instead.

“I like to get to know my companions,” Hawke stated, quietly.

“A wise choice,” Fenris acknowledged. “Ask what you must.”

“Your old master must want something more than a run away slave,” she observed.

“He doesn't want me at all, just the markings on my skin,” he explained, causing Hawke to look at him. “They are lyrium, burned into my flesh to provide the power that Danarius required of his pet.”

Hawke closed her eyes, trying not to let her disgust show. “Sick bastard,” she muttered, barely under her breath.

“Indeed,” Fenris scoffed. “Now, he wishes his precious investment returned. Even if he must rip it from my corpse.”

“Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome man,” Hawke quipped, unable to help herself.

She glanced at the elf, surprised to see the faintest hint of a blush tinge his tapered ears. He chuckled, sounding slightly embarrassed, barely peeking at her through his fringe. Frankly, it was rather adorable. Hawke hadn't expected a simple compliment would affect him to such an extent.

“Sorry,” she whispered, not bothering to hide her customary grin.

To her surprise, he replied with the barest hint of a, some what shy, smile. And she counted that as a victory.

“The truth is, I know nothing of the ritual that placed these markings on me. It was Danarius' choice, one he is now regretting,” Fenris continued.

“You said that Danarius is a magister, little else.”

“In Tevinter, the magisters hold all the power. Over the chantry, over the Imperial Court, over life itself. It is nothing for one to own a slave, Danarius had many. But none he valued so much as me...”

Hawke shook her head. “No group should have absolute control,” she said, mostly to herself. “How did you get away?”

“Was it not enough that I did?” he countered, sounding a little defensive. “I carved my path to freedom in blood. I left that life behind, yet his bounty hunters follow me, no matter where I go. I will run no longer.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You're a brave man,” she complimented, appraising him for a moment. “I've seen some of your abilities, do they come from those markings?”

“Some. All I know, that even in the Imperium, warriors such as myself are rare. Perhaps they think I should feel honoured.”

She bit back a huff of laughter at the idea, though it seemed he had heard it, for his ears twitched slightly, and he regarded her again with the faint hint of a smile.

“I must ask, a moment ago, you didn't seem all that thrilled with me. Why offer your assistance?”

Fenris looked her straight in the eyes. “You are not Danarius, whether you are anything like him, remains to be seen.”

In truth, Hawke could have been a more than a little offended at his words. That he would even consider her remotely like his former master. However, she wasn't. The fact that after all he'd suffered at the hand of a mage, he was willing to give her a chance... she respected him for that. And his honesty. It said more about his character than perhaps he realised.

“Thank you, I appreciate you keeping an open mind, few people do,” she replied honestly.

Her sentiment seemed to surprise him, if the look in his olive eyes were any indication.

“Myself and Varric are planning an expedition, we might need help with,” Hawke continued. “In the mean time, I'm sure there will be plenty of jobs coming up, there usually are.”

“Fair enough, should you ever have need of me, I will be here.” He nodded towards the abandoned mansion. “If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he is free to return and claim it. Beyond that, I am at your disposal.”

A myriad of innuendos that Isabela would be proud of, flashed through Hawke's mind. Though she managed to keep them from slipping from her lips. Instead, she smiled at him, albeit a little flirtatiously, before she pressed the coin pouch back in his hand. At his confused look, she chuckled softly.

“I don't take coin from my companions,” Hawke smiled. “Work with us on some jobs, and the debt you don't owe me will be paid.” She hesitated a moment, as she rose to stand. “And if you don't mention my abilities...”

“You have my word,” he agreed, before she even finished her request, much to Hawke's surprise. “I... appreciate the need for discretion.”

 


	6. Firelight (Fenris PoV)

When the mage... Hawke, had offered him work, Fenris had not expected to see her the very next day. He'd been wary at first, suspicious, when he learnt the job was a bounty. Though hearing it was a mercenary company they hunted, one that had killed someone's family, made him less reluctant to agree to accompany her... it also wasn't like he had anything better to do.

Fenris had spent a rather fitful first night in the mansion. Unable to sleep, expecting bounty hunters or shades to attack at any moment. He'd seen Danarius' face in every gaudy painting, so each and everyone had been slashed in a fit of rage. He could still feel the anger coiling inside him, and the more he thought on it, hunting down a band of mercenaries seemed an appealing prospect. So he agreed, which left him traipsing to the Wounded Coast with Hawke, Aveline, and Varric. He'd opted to walk slightly behind them, not because he was unsettled by their easy comradery, but because it afforded him a better chance to observe... to keep an eye on the mage. Despite this, they didn't cease their efforts to pull him into conversation as they travelled, something Fenris resisted, offering only grunts or one-word replies. Eventually, after two very long hours, they'd given up trying to include him, and he'd spent the rest of the journey gleaning pieces of information about them. Although, to his confusion, Hawke would continually glance back to him, offering an easy smile, before returning to her conversation.

Regardless of her odd behaviour, the job had been successful. Varric managed to secure two further locations of more mercenaries from the last of the dying men, before Aveline had ended the man's life with a swift thrust of her sword. It had come as no surprise that the trio had looted the corpses of any valuable items, which was something Fenris had done many a time, what was unexpected was that they seemed to pool the spoils. All of it going into a pouch that the dwarf had clipped to his belt. Another surprise, was how they piled the bodies together. Not roughly thrown, or mishandled, but done with more care than one would predict someone to treat an enemy. Then, he had felt the telltale tingle in his markings, signalling a spell being cast. Hawke set the pile of bodies a light. Though there was no triumphant gleam in her eyes as she did, no obvious sign of delight. Instead, she bowed her head, as did Aveline. Varric stood rigidly by Fenris' side; the dwarf's smile was as customary as the mage's, though his face was grim as he regarded the two woman. Fenris got the distinct, uneasy impression that this was a pyre for the dead. That the two women were paying respects to the fallen, even though they had dealt the men's deaths. He wasn't sure why, but he felt uneasy watching the scene.

Journeying back to Kirkwall followed the same pattern as the trip to the coast. He walked slightly behind the trio, listening to their easy conversation, watching the mage for any signs of weakness. Feeling bewildered every time Hawke turned to smile at him. Evening had set by the time they set foot in the city. Varric and Hawke had broke off when they reached low town, both slipping easily into the Hanged Man. They'd invited him and Aveline to join them, though the guards-woman had proclaimed her shift was about to start, and Fenris felt uneasy at the prospect at being where there were so many people. So many face in which Danarius' could be hiding. He made his excuses, then walked silently with Aveline until they reached Hightown, before he sought the relative safety of the mansion. He hadn't expected to see Hawke again that day, certainly hadn't anticipated the mage turning up on his doorstep, a basket full of health and stamina potions in hand. She was still wearing her leather and chainmail armour, with her bow still strapped to her back, something he found an odd appreciation for. With only a little hesitation, Fenris allowed her inside, leading her to the only room where a fire blazed. She set the basket down on a side table without ceremony, her eyes flicking around the room. He was thankful Hawke didn't make comment on the destroyed paintings, her smile remaining in place. She hadn't even faltered as she stepped over a dead body in the foyer, one that seemed to be magically preserved; a method often used in Tevinter to intimidate would-be rivals. She had merely wrinkled her nose, her smile becoming a little tight, as she quipped: 'I love what you've done with the place'.

With a little awkwardness, Fenris had offered her the sole armchair in the room. Not because she was a mage, and it would have been expected of him. But because it seemed the polite thing to do, something civilised that a free man would do for a woman. After all, she had just brought him some much needed supplies, probably out of her own stash... or Varric's. Fenris supposed it was the least he could do. Inelegantly, he had offered her a drink. She had seemed surprised , for her eyes had widened slightly. But then her smile had turned gracious, as she nodded. In truth, Fenris wasn't exactly sure why he'd asked. She was a mage, and he was no longer a slave. Why was he fetching the woman a drink? The thought twisted around his mind as he headed to the cellar, and snatched the nearest bottle from the rack. A humourless smile pulled at his lips, as he read the label. The irony wasn't lost on him. Shaking his head, Fenris uncorked the bottle, and made his was back to the bleak room he'd claimed as him own. When he reached the doorway, he paused. He observed Hawke leaning forward in the armchair, her eyes intend on the flickering flames. The firelight cast a warm glow to her porcelain skin, the redness of her hair amplified, shining like a rich ruby. Fenris shook his head again, biting back the grunt of annoyance that wished to escape. He was observing, not admiring. There was nothing to admire about a mage.

“Agreggio Pervali,” he announced, offering her the bottle. “There are six bottles in the cellar.”

Hawke turned her gaze from the dancing flames, and raised an eyebrow at this statement. She accepted the drink, seeming unphased that there was no glass, and took a swig from the bottle. The mage seemed to contemplate the taste for a moment, and Fenris wasn't sure what her opinion was of the deep, red wine. Though she frowned slightly, as she set the bottle on the small side table next to her.

“Not... bad,” she stated, sounding unconvinced.

“Danarius had me pour it for his guests,” Fenris continued, not sure exactly why he was telling her this. “My appearance intimidated them, he said. Which he enjoyed.”

A dark looked crossed her verdant eyes, though it quickly vanished. Only to be replaced by a spark of mischief, as she seemed to study his face. “I can't image why they'd be put off.”

Fenris was taken aback by her blunt statement, as well as a little surprised that he didn't feel repulsed by a mage appraising him. Hawke's straightforwardness was actually rather welcome, a refreshing change from what he'd experienced in both Tevinter, and here in the Free Marches so far.

“You say what's on your mind, I'll give you that.”

“That's the nicest way anyone's ever told me to shut my trap,” Hawke replied, glibly.

An easy smile formed on her rouged lips, and a small traitorous smile threatened to pull at his lips in reply. To cover the urge, Fenris snatched up the bottle of wine, and took a hearty gulp. The taste of clove and cherries assaulted his tongue. The flavour was good, something he'd secretly longed to know as he had served Danarius' guests. The memory of those parties flooded his mind, turning the lingering taste to ash. In a fit of disgust, he hurled the bottle at the far wall. Rejoicing at the sound of the ridiculously priced wine smashing against the grey stone. If it wasn't for Hawke's small snort of amusement, Fenris might have forgotten the mage was sat in the sole, unbroken armchair in the room.

“I give that an eight out of ten,” she stated, nonchalantly. “You lost points due to you not aiming for anything white. A spectacular stain would have really added a bit of flare.”

Despite himself, a wry smile did form on his lips at her dry humour. “It's good I can still take pleasure from the small things,” he replied, trying to match her easiness.

For a moment, Hawke regarded him silently. There was an unexpected softness to her gaze, one that had Fenris wanting to shift from foot to foot. Though he wasn't sure why.

“You've had a difficult life.”

Her tone was gentle as she spoke, and though it was said quietly, there was no pity or apology in what Hawke said. She was stating a fact. Carefully and respectfully, but a simple fact none the less. An observation, not a judgement. Fenris was more relieved than he cared to acknowledge about that. Though he was not inclined to dwell on it.

“I'd rather not speak more of it,” he stated.

“If you are sure...” she paused, her gaze turning appraising once more. “If you change your mind, I am willing to listen.”

Fenris' immediate reaction was to baulk at the idea. The very notion of confiding in anyone, let alone a mage, was ludicrous. And because she was a mage, there was no way that the offer was made without some ulterior motive, some desire to have more to lord over him. However, the evident softness that was back in her eyes gave him pause. It stopped the tirade of hateful vitriol that was poised on the tip of his tongue. Mage or no, Hawke seemed so honest, open, as she looked up at him. Something gnawed at the back of Fenris' mind, something that made him wonder if her offer was genuine. The thought startled a chuckle from him.

“To my whining... very charitable of you,” he said instead.

Her smile turned wry. “You've met my brother,” she replied, shrugging. “Andraste help you, if you ever have to meet my uncle.”

“I wanted to leave my past behind me,” Fenris found himself admitting, much to his own astonishment. “But it wont stay there.”

Without ceremony, he seated himself on the rickety bench that also sat in front of the fire. Positioning himself so he was facing Hawke. For a moment, as he regarded her sitting slightly above him; due to the different heights of their seats, a wave of disgust coiled in his gut. How many times had Danarius sat above him? Or that blasted Hadriana... but as quickly as the feeling came, Fenris quashed it down. He had told Hawke last night, he would wait and see if she turned out to be a mage of their ilk. After all, it was he himself, who had offered her that seat. One she had, in fairness, seemed hesitant to take.

“Tell me,” he began, remembering snippets of conversation from earlier in the day. “Have you never wanted to return to Fereldan?”

A look of surprise flashed in Hawke's eyes, as if she'd been completely unprepared for that question. Perhaps she was. For Fenris had to admit, he had pointedly avoided any conversation that Hawke, Aveline or Varric had tried to drag him into. The surprise faded into a look of sadness, and Fenris immediately felt a pang of regret. Hawke opened her mouth, though closed it again. A forlorn smile formed, as her gaze turned back to the dancing flames of the fire. Fenris could see how her posture changed, tensing as memories were undoubtedly invoked. He hadn't expected such a change from someone who seemed to be an annoying optimist. Though, just as he was about to speak, to recant the question, a small sigh escaped Hawke. It sounded like resignation.

“I have no home to return to,” she said at length, her eyes not leaving the fire.

Fenris couldn't help but wonder what Hawke saw, as she looking into the flames. “The blight is over, you could rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?”

To his amazement, when she turned her gaze back to him, Fenris was sure he could see tears in Hawke's eyes. He swallowed thickly. Unsure why the sight of a mage close to weeping unsettled him so. It shouldn't matter to him how Hawke felt. She was a mage. Everything he knew to hate and distrust. And yet... there was something deeply wrong were seeing those unshed tears.

“I can't bring Bethany back, or father,” she replied, quietly.

There was a moment of silence. He wasn't sure who Bethany was, though he presumed it was a sister. For a heartbeat, Fenris watched as Hawke closed her eyes. It was only a heartbeat, but when her verdant gaze met his again, there was no trace of the tears. A smile, albeit a small one, was back of her lips. Hawke shrugged, though the gesture seemed almost sheepish. Almost an apology.

“Besides, what's left of my family is here, and my mother is from Kirkwall,” she continued, cheerful enough. “Our heritage is here... as well as the bunch of odd-bods I call friends.”

Against his better judgement, Fenris found himself returning her smile. “Having a place where you can put down roots... I understand.” At least, he appreciated the idea. “Still, to have the option...

must be gratifying.”

“Do you intend to keep living here?”

“I haven't decided,” Fenris replied, honestly. “For now, it's as good as any other place. I would return to Seheron, if I could, but...” He bit back a sigh, trying to ignore the bile that rose in his throat. “There is no life for me there.”

She seemed genuinely curious, when she asked: “Is that where you're from?”

“So I've been told,” he replied, a little more tersely than he intended.

Hawke's brow furrowed, ever so slightly. “Where you very young when you left there?”

It was a very polite way of asking why he didn't remember, and Fenris found himself once again thankful for the mage's tact. It was unexpected. Novel, even. And though he would barely admit it to himself, he found it rather charming. Much to his chagrin.

“Perhaps.”

Her smile morphed into something more wry, once again, as if she had figured out he was not willing to divulge anything more. She nodded, her unbound hair slipping over shoulder as she did. The auburn locks caught the firelight in a way that distracted Fenris. Also, to his chagrin. Why should he care if the firelight set the colour of her hair ablaze, or how it contrasted against the dark tan leather on her armour.

“You could track your former master down, I assume,” Hawke said, changing the topic.

It wasn't the most ideal subject matter, though it was safer ground than his missing memories. Besides, they'd only met due to his needing help to confront Danarius. Fenris wasn't sure what was motivating her to ask, though he reluctantly supposed he did owe her some sort of explanation.

“I image he has returned to Minrathous,” he explained. “Though I do not dare go near the city, whilst he is still alive.”

“Too many cronies?”

Fenris nodded. “It is better to wait for him to leave his fortress, fight from a fortified position.” He paused, this time regarding her. “I do not expect your help when that day comes...”

“You have it.”

The words were out of Hawke's mouth, before Fenris could finished what would have undoubtedly been a poorly worded request. He blinked. Surprise being the first of his emotions at her unhesitating offer. Really, Fenris knew he should be wary at why a mage was offering her assistance so easily. Her help would come at a price, she was a mage, after all. However, once again, there was an unnerving honesty in her eyes. It was something that was worryingly hard to ignore.

“You've been on the run for a long time?” she asked, once again moving the conversation along.

“Three years now,” he told her, truthfully. Unable to keep all the weariness out of his voice. It had been three, very long, years. “Danarius has a way of finding me. Perhaps it is the markings... whatever the means, it never takes him long to follow. This is the first time I've given him reason to pause. I suppose there are advantages in numbers,” he admitted, a little reluctantly.

“Haven't you sought help before?” Hawke queried, sounding shocked.

“Hirelings, when I could steal the coin. Never anyone of substance, until you.”

The fact that she didn't bat an eyelid at his admittance of having to resort to thievery to support himself, nor his awkward compliment, was more of a relief than Fenris had been expecting. And the warm smile Hawke gave him, was more pleasing than he was willing to admit.

“Danarius will not give up, however,” he continued, quickly. “I await his return.”

“If you are looking to start a life, staying might not be a bad idea,” Hawke stated.

“I could see myself staying, for the right reasons,” he replied.

Hawke's eyebrow rose again, a mischievous glint in her eyes, alerting Fenris to his inadvertent innuendo. Blessedly, she did no more than smirk at him. Still, he could feel the telltale tingle that signified that the tips of his ears were turning pink with embarrassment.

“I... should thank you again,” he said, hurriedly. “For helping me against the hunters. Had I know Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner.”

He had meant it as a compliment to her fighting prowess, for even though she was a mage, Fenris couldn't fault Hawke's skills in battle. He also had a begrudging respect that she seemed to use her magic sparsely, only unleashing it at either another's request, or to help her companions. She was deadly accurate with her bow, and he knew that had to have come from years of dedicated practise, not from a spell she'd conjured. _That_ he could easily respect. However, from the way her smirk widened, Fenris knew that was not how it had sounded.

“Flatterer,” she chuckled, her voice taking on an unexpected sultry edge. “Maybe I'm the one who should be thanking Anso.”

“Maybe you should,” he shot back.

Her verdant eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn't been expected that sort of reply. Fenris couldn't fault her for that, he hadn't expected to say such a thing either. Never feeling the urge to flirt, or at least attempt to, until that moment. However, her smirk became a more open, genuine smile. On he had seen her direct at Varric, when the dwarf was trying to make her laugh. Fenris didn't expect the satisfaction he felt, at being the cause of such a smile. It was disconcerting. In a hurry, he stood. Eager to have this puzzling woman out of his stolen room, lest he say more that he may come to regret. He had no idea why, but his tongue was loose around her. Something that left Fenris feeling uneasy, despite his certainty that she _hadn't_ cast some sort of spell on him. He would have know, the magic would have made his markings burn, if she had. Hawke must have sensed he wanted her to leave, for she stood too, regarding him calmly.

“Perhaps I will practise my flattery for your next visit,” he said, a little nervously. “With any luck, I will become better at it.”

Hawke grinned at him. “I think you're doing just fine.”

 


	7. Clash (Hawke PoV)

The giant, gruesome statues towered above them, as did the immense iron gates as they climbed the steps leading to the Gallows courtyard. Hawke hated the place. Not just for what it was now, but also for what it once was, and for everything it stood for. Oppression. In all it's evil, cruel and tortuous forms. As much as she missed Bethany, Hawke was glad her little sister had never set eyes on this place. It would have broken her heart. As a rule, she tried to avoid the Gallows as much a possible, and since being granted entrance to the city, this was only her second time returning to the Maker-foresaken place. Hawke also sincerely hoped it would be one of her last. Apart from hating everything the Circle was and stood for, she had a very real fear of being caught and imprisoned. She may take pains to appear as a rogue, from her clothing to her choice of weapon, but that didn't guard her from gnawing worry. With this in mind, she'd left Anders and Merrill safely behind. Isabela hadn't risen from her hangover yet, and she doubted Carver would have managed to remain discrete, Hawke had brought Fenris, Varric and Aveline with her.

"I've... heard about the circle of magi outside the Imperium, but I've never been in one," Fenris said, quietly.

His gaze was rooted to one of the large, bronze slave status that 'guarded' the entrance to the Gallows. Hawke wasn't sure what was going through the elf's mind. She knew the place set her on edge, she was an apostate after all, this place was everything she was hiding from. Still, the Gallows had once been where the Imperium held their slaves, the grotesque statues a testament to that. Fenris' eyes looked slightly haunted, making her wonder if this place also represented what he was running from. She was about to approach him, tell him he needn't enter the Gallows if they set him on edge. They wouldn't be long in there, as long as no one suspected she was a mage, that is. However, once Fenris was within arm's reach, he surprised Hawke. Whirling round to face her, then stepping close. He didn't touch her, but his proximity was close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.

"Are you certain it is wise for you to be here?" he asked, his voice low.

To say Hawke was surprised, was an understatement, given Fenris' opinion on mages. True, when she had spoken with him last night, he'd been civil, cordial even. There had even been the slightest hint of flirting. Still, that hadn't prepared her for him to seem concerned for her safety. She knew Varric and Aveline were, Carver too, though she'd tactfully asked him to check up on Merrill rather than accompany her to the Gallows. But she would never have suspected it of Fenris. The way his olive eyes boar into hers, Hawke felt he was being genuine in his concern.

"Maybe not," she answered, matching his quiet tone. "But I'll be cautious."

Fenris' eyes shifted around the courtyard, his gaze wary. "This place seems almost like a prison. I wonder if it's more effective than the Circle I know."

"They are prisons," Hawke replied, trying not to let her anger towards the Circles show in her voice. "This one especially. How is the Imperial circle of magi different?"

He seemed taken aback by her question, as if he hadn't expected her to enquire. "Once upon a time, it was as it is here. The chantry watched the magisters closely for any signs of corruption or weakness. Then it changed. The magisters were permitted to watch over their own, Templars kept only to enforce the law. What happened next was inevitable. The magisters rule again, as powerful as they ever were."

"If the chantry once watched the magisters, why did they stop?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"You must remember that the attitude towards magic is different in Tevinter," Fenris explained. "Magisters came from wealthy families, bloodlines that had nurtured magical talent for countless generations. The chantry was not trying to control poor peasants, but the scions of the greatest houses in the Imperium."

"No surprise the rich are governed by a different set of rules," Hawke sighed, leaning against the wall behind them. Keeping mostly in the shadows. "You talk of the magisters as if they are all evil."

The look Fenris levelled her with, was nothing short of appraising. "I have no doubt that some are good and noble people, strong enough to resist temptation. But how many temptations do you wish to offer a man, before he will give in? Blood magic is everywhere in Tevinter, from the lowliest apprentice, to the archon himself."

"Have you seen this for yourself?" Hawke queried, unable to help herself.

She was trying hard not to take offence with his judgement that _all_ mages would fall to temptation. Knowing that those gifted with magic were no weaker than those born without. Knowing in her heart, it was the system that was to blame. Both in Ferelden and the Free Marches, as well as Orlais and Tevinter. It was all a midden heap. Perhaps her annoyance bled into her tone though, for he took a step away from her.

"Danarius talked about it often. Of course they say it's forbidden. Behind the smiles and closed doors however, it's a different matter. To be a magister in Tevinter is to be glorious. To be a powerful magister in Tevinter... that is worth any price."

The last two sentences seemed as if he was offering her an ideal picture, one he assumed she would want. Hawke couldn't help her lip curling into a sneer at the mere thought of it. No one party should rule completely, and blood magic wasn't worth any prize.

"No, it's not," she stated, barely keeping from clenching her teeth. "And what happened in Tevinter was not inevitable."

"Mages being permitted to be their own watchers, of course it is," Fenris replied, a hard edge creeping into his voice. "It is too easy for a mage to resort to blood magic if they feel the need is great enough. A mage can desire power, justice, revenge, protection... any cause will do, then they are lost."

_'How dare he?!'_

Hawke's temper threatened to flare, and it was only the diligent teachings of her father that let her control how her magic demanded to be set free. In truth, she could punch the elf for being such a bastard. Giving lenience for what he had suffered only went so far. It ended when he was insulting not just herself, but the memories of Bethany and father as well. Knowing she had to put distance between them, Hawke pushed away from the wall. However, Fenris stood in her path, refusing to let her passed. He was looking at her expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to lose control. The idea caused her raging fire to turn into cold fury.

"Not all mages are like that," she hissed, standing almost nose to nose with him. "And you'd be best to remember such a thing. Places like this, are prisons. Mages held against their will, for something out of their control. Who asks to be born with magic? Who wants their life to be dictated by another? Their freedom, their choices, stolen from them."

Her words seemed to surprise him, perhaps hit a cord, for he backed down from his confrontational stance.

"All I'm saying is that the Imperium offers no answer," Fenris stated, somewhat gentler than before.

"No, it doesn't," Hawke readily agreed, once again seeming to catch him off guard. "But this is not the answer either. Here, mages are taught to fear their magic, not respect it. In Tevinter, they are taught that it makes them special, instead of it being something useful that can help others. All of it is corrupt. No one group should have absolute control. Things need to change, everywhere. Mages and none mages need to start working together, as equals. Magic is no more inherently dangerous than wielding a blade or bow. However, it is the substandard teaching and either the culture of fear or entitlement which makes it dangerous. Locking away something, some _one_ , you fear and don't understand is not the answer."

"Freedom is a noble idea, but I see no oppression here," Fenris replied.

Hawke's patience finally broke.

"You see no oppression because it does not affect you or your sensibilities," she grit out. "You hate mages, therefore robbing them of freedom is not wrong. Everyone deserves to be free and equal, Fenris. Mages, elves, dwarfs, humans. The poor, the rich. Freedom should not be a luxury. I thought you of all people would believe in that."

Without waiting for his answer, Hawke pushed passed him and headed towards the group of recruits standing on the far side of the courtyard. Trying to ignore the worried glances from Varric and Aveline, who had been browsing a nearby stall, obviously eavesdropping without making it noticeable. No matter what Hawke's personal opinion was of the Circles or of the Templars, there was a woman worried sick about her younger brother. If it had been Carver who was missing, she would hope someone would help. You didn't have to be born without magic to be a good person, and she was damn well determined to prove it.

 


	8. Flames (Fenris PoV)

After their confrontation at the Gallows, Fenris hadn't seen much of Hawke in the following weeks. She still occasionally dropped by to ask him to accompany her on a mission, which he always agreed to, but she hadn't stopped by in the evening to simply talk since. In truth, it vexed Fenris. Even though Hawke was always polite to him, he had started to envied the easy rapport she had with dwarf and the pirate. The trio were who he usually found himself working with, and they would forever be joking and exchanging quips. The pirate would flirt endlessly with Hawke, something that bothered Fenris for reasons he couldn't explain. Granted, she usually flirted with Varric and himself as well, and Fenris often found himself biting back the urge to snap at her when she targeted him. He was quietly thankful for the way Hawke always managed to 'save' him from Isabela's advances, seeming to instinctively know when it was becoming overwhelming. Having said that, Fenris would have traded his sword arm to have the pirate with them at that moment, instead of Hawke's brother. He doubted her sense of humour would have made the unpleasant situation any more bearable, but he suspected she would have been able to comfort Hawke in a way the three men couldn't. Actually, that wasn't fair. Varric was doing an admiral job, the only one to go to Hawke's side, when she'd dropped to her knees, sobbing as the Qunari mage had self-immolated. Varric still stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, as the body turned to ash.

It was an image Fenris doubted would ever leave his mind, no matter how much he wanted it to. Not just the Qunari mage's suicide, but just how the Qunari treated their mages. Fenris might have hated those with magic, believed they should be watched, kept under control... but even he had to admit what the Qunari's did was extreme. The thought of Hawke trussed up like that, had made bile rise to his throat. Not that he would ever admit it. He'd overheard snippets of their conversation, as Hawke had begged her fellow mage not to kill himself. Hearing that the Qunari thought death was preferable to freedom, because of what he had been taught... it had sicked Fenris. It came too close to how brainwashed a slave was by their master for his liking. It made him wonder if perhaps Hawke wasn't so wrong in her believes that it was the teachings that were inherently at fault, rather than magic itself. Still, the new found consideration didn't take away the strange constriction Fenris felt in his chest, as he watched Hawke cry. Watched her mourn someone she didn't even truly know. Part of him wondered if it was because it was a fellow mage who had died, though the younger Hawke soon put pay to the idea.

"She's always been like this," Carver muttered, almost under his breath. "Anyone, anything she can't save, she grieves over. Mother's asked her to stop helping at the clinic, for every time a patient dies, she's beside herself."

"You say this is part of Hawke's nature?" Fenris enquired, surprised.

"She's too damn soft, cares too much. Always getting her feelings hurt, not that she usually lets that show," Carver sighed, sounding a mixture of irritated and concerned. "At least she can put up a good front."

Before he could reply,his fellow warrior moved to join Hawke and Varric, who'd finally left the smouldering remains. Fenris took a moment to study the red haired mage. Already she was smiling, even as she wiped the tears from her cheeks, though it seemed tired. Fenris also noticed the smile didn't quite reach her eyes, not the way it did when she laughed with Varric or Isabela, or even the way it had when he had offered to practice his flattery for her next visit. At that moment, it seemed to be a mask, something she was hiding behind. Perhaps as a means to protect herself... Fenris wasn't entirely sure. He'd previously thought she was a little brash, the way she would laugh with Varric or Isabela just before a fight, the dry quips they would trade. But now Fenris wondered if there was more to Hawke than met the eye, and not in the negative sense he'd originally suspected.

 


	9. An Average Gathering (Hawke PoV)

A contented sigh escaped Hawke, despite the madness that was currently surrounding her. Isabela was currently straddling Carver, who's face had turned an interesting shade of red as the pirate hoisted her ample breasts into his line of sight. Anders and Aveline were having a loud, drunken debate about mabaris of all things. Merrill had only drank half of her first cup of ale, but was already asleep in Varric's bed; after Hawke and the dwarf had carried her there. Speaking of Varric, her best friend was currently acting as her footstool, even as he tried to flag down Nora for more drinks. Fenris, was his usually broody self, and was sat directly opposite Hawke, regarding her intently.

“Are you certain that is who will accompany you?” he asked, for about the sixth time.

Languidly, Hawke withdrew her feet from Varric's lap and sat upright in her chair once more. She wasn't sure why the elf was so concerned with who she was taking into the Deep Roads. By all accounts, none of them were particularly relishing the idea. Varric was only going to keep an eye on Bartrand, she and Carver were going to try and secure them and their mother a more comfortable lifestyle, and Anders had reluctantly agreed to accompany them. After finally acknowledging that his experience from being a Grey Warden would help them detect any darkspawn, so they wouldn't be taken by surprise. Really, Hawke was touched her fellow mage would venture back to somewhere he couldn't stand, just in a bid to keep them safe. Why Fenris was bothered that he was being let off the gruesome hook, she couldn't fathom.

“Yes,” she replied, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Carver is in this as much as I am, and Anders had experience of the Deep Roads.”

Fenris jaw tensed. “And you will be leaving tomorrow?”

Hawke was impressed. She had expected him to once again ask her if she were sure she would be safe with the _abomination_ , the 'nickname' he'd taken to calling Anders. It made her wince every time, still cursing Merrill for absent-mindedly revealing that their fellow mage harboured a spirit. However, since Anders had taken to referring to Fenris as a rabid dog, something that irked Hawke no end, she supposed the two men were on level ground with their distaste... and pettiness. Truthfully, with the crazy mixed bag her companions were, Hawke was rather surprised it was only really those two that had an issue with each other. Sure, Isabela and Aveline bickered, but really it was never anything too serious.

“Just after dawn, if I know my brother, which I unfortunately do,” Varric replied, before she had a chance.

She flashed the dwarf a knowing smile. Hawke had always considered Carver to be a bit of a pain in the ass, especially from the time he hit sixteen and thought he knew it all. In the two years since father had died, his youthful cockiness and swagger had turned sullen. He often seemed to have a chip on his shoulder. At eighteen, Hawke thought her younger brother was more world weary than he ought to be, and even before Ostagar, he'd been the same. Always telling her and Bethany that their empathy was only a way for people to hurt them. Perhaps he was right, but Hawke couldn't imagine becoming as standoffish as Carver was. It wasn't in her nature.

“Why do you ask?” Hawke queried, turning her attention back to Fenris.

Before he answered, the elf drained his mug of the remnants of ale, wincing as he did. “Just... curious,” he replied, not quite meeting her eyes.

 


	10. The Send Off (Fenris PoV)

Fenris shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unsure why he'd come, though at least he wasn't the only one. Aveline, Isabela and Merrill had all turned up to see the expedition off, so Fenris supposed his appearance wasn't as out of place as he felt. Still, he wasn't sure why he'd bothered. Hawke was... just an acquaintance, someone he occasional did jobs with, on a weekly basis, and who dragged him out of his stolen mansion at least once a week for a game of Wicked Grace. So perhaps, she was a friend. But she was still a mage, and even though she'd given him no indication of ulterior motives, Fenris knew it was bound to only be a matter of time until she turned on him. She _was_ a mage. Regardless, he'd still come to the square at the ungodly time of the morning. Silently, Fenris watched as Hawke embraced each of the women in turn. Promising Aveline and Merrill they'd all be careful, and assuring Isabela she'd bring her back some treasure. He'd watched as the mage's striking green eyes had turned to him, and felt rooted to the spot as she smiled warmly at him.

"Don't go killing all the slavers on the Wounded Coast without me, okay?" she said, playfully.

Against his better judgement, Fenris found an answering smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I make no such promise.”

Then Hawke's attention had been pulled away, by Bartrand's poorly worded speech, that was more comical than motivational. Their other three companions left, though Fenris found himself staying, watching as Hawke and Varric exchanged glances, the rogue evidently muttering commentary on his brother's speech, as Hawke tried not to laugh. He also noticed that Carver would often share glances with his sister. It was rare that the pair were particularly friendly with each other, or more to the point, the young warrior was often prickly towards Hawke. Though this morning, the warrior would roll his eyes at her, whenever Bartrand would say anything particularly cringe worthy. Hawke would merely smirk back at him. Much to Fenris' annoyance, he was unable to ignore the looks the abomination was giving the redhead. Though before he could ponder why it's attention irked him so much, and left his fists clenching in anger, Fenris noticed a grey haired woman had entered the square. He wasn't the only one, for Bartrand made a snide remark, which left the woman apologising and stating she needed to speak to her children. For a moment, Fenris was perplexed, before he noticed that Hawke and Carver went to join her. Then he saw the passing resemblance the two had for the woman. Unable to help himself, he moved closer to the trio, using techniques he'd honed as Danarius' bodyguard, in order to avoid undue notice and suspicion.

"Mother, no," Carver sighed. "We talked about how important this is."

The older woman seemed to ignore him, looking at Hawke. "I just want to know one thing, are you planning on taking Carver with you?"

The two siblings exchanged a look, before Hawke spoke. "Mother, we explained this to you last night. I can't leave Carver behind. He's a strong and capable warrior, the expedition needs him. I need him."

For all his complaining about being in Hawke's shadow, the young warrior seemed to puff up at his sister's words. "I'm going," he stated. "It'll be fine."

"It's not fine, you can't both go," the woman argued. "What if something were to happen to you?"

Fenris noticed, that the older woman only looked at Carver when she said this. And from the way that Varric began to sidle closer to the trio, he doubted he was the only one.

"I understand wanting to do this," the woman continued, turning her attention back to Hawke. "But leave your brother here, I beg you. I can't loose him as well as Bethany."

No one else had probably noticed how Hawke stiffened at her mother's words, nor how a flicker of flame danced briefly in her hands, that were clasped behind her back. But Fenris did. He also noticed how Carver moved ever so slightly towards his sister, his expression hardening as he did. Fenris had heard of Bethany; the sister that hadn't escaped the Blight, from a hushed conversation he had with Aveline late one night, as he had watched Carver and Hawke get paralytic together. Apparently, she'd been the warrior's twin, and that night had been their birthday. Hawke had entered the Hanged Man with a red tinge to her eyes, and Carver had appeared more stony faced than usual. That night, the only companions who had ventured near the pair had been Varric and Aveline. And no one had been surprised, when the pair hadn't returned to the hovel they shared with their mother and uncle, until late the next day.

"I said, I'm going," Carver grit out. "Besides, if we are so bloody afraid of Templar's, I should go and she should hide."

His hand had squeezed Hawke's shoulder as he said this, giving Fenris the impression that this may have been a long standing argument between the three of them.

"Carver, I beg you, don't do this," the woman pleaded, grabbing hold of her son's forearms.

Fenris saw the fleeting look of hurt in Hawke's eyes as she took a step away from the two of them, and he felt a pain in his chest. For one irrational moment, he considered going to her, to... fasta vass! Fenris wasn't sure what he wanted to do. But he had and awful inkling that the look of hurt in Hawke's eyes, would be something that would haunt him for quite a while. What bothered him more, was the fact she didn't even seem surprised at her mother's words, or the woman's blatant disregard for her. Anger began to pool in his gut, as he watched Hawke smile somewhat sadly at Varric as he stood beside her. She was normally so positive and vivacious. Seeing her like this was... wrong.

"Don't worry about me so," Carver consoled their mother. "I got out of Ostagar, didn't I?"

Reluctantly, the woman let him go, though before she left, she gave Hawke a filthy look. One that very nearly set Fenris' marks glowing. Mage or no, she deserved more respect than that, especially from her own mother. He may not have any memories of his own family, but he knew they were supposed to be loving and supportive of each other. Which was far from what he witnessed regarding Hawke's family. Carver seemed almost sheepish, when he rejoined Hawke, and squeezed her upper arm in a rare show of affection.

"You know what she's like, she doesn't mean it," he comforted.

True to form, Hawke smiled at her brother, before shrugging. "Never mind," she replied, with evident forced cheerfulness. "Shall we go?" she added, glancing at Varric.

"Bout time," Bartrand grumbled. "The Deep Roads await."

Fenris did not expect to see anything more as the expedition set off, and it was evident he had missed his chance to say anything to her, especially as the abomination edged closer to Hawke, evidently trying to worm his way into her good graces, with quiet pleasantries and mumbled consolations. It once again left Fenris clenching his fists in anger. Though, to his surprise, as they moved passed his location, Hawke caught his eye and winked at him.

'Thank you,' she mouthed, leaving him confused and speechless.

 


	11. Resurfacing (Hawke PoV)

_'Take care of mother. I will see you again.'_

The last words Carver had said to her, played on repeat in Hawke's head. She couldn't believe how terribly their expedition had gone. From Bartrand's betrayal... the two weeks it had taken them to escape the Thaig, surviving on deep mushrooms and water created from melting ice spells... to Carver being infected by the taint, and having to entrust him to a warden who Anders knew. At least that had been a stroke of luck, without Anders, Hawke was certain she would have had to end Carver's life, just as Aveline had ended Wesley's.

“Home sweet home, finally,” Varric announced.

His voice roused Hawke from her thoughts, and it was only then that the acrid smell of the foundries assaulted her nose, threatening to make her eyes stream. It was with mixed feelings that Hawke looked around the haze covered Low Town. On one hand, it was good to finally be back in civilization, after the nightmare they had lived through. All of them worst for wear, their clothing and armour in tatters from the near constant skirmishes with darkspawn and rock wraiths. On the other... Hawke had to face telling her mother Carver wouldn't be coming home.

“Do you think Bartrand came back to the city?” Varric asked, glancing at her sideways. “Do you think I'd be that lucky?”

All at once, Hawke was almost left breathless by a sense of guilt, she wasn't the only one who had lost a brother in the Deep Roads. For the past four days, as they finally exited their prison and traipsed back to Kirkwall, she'd been grief stricken over Carver, constantly worrying about what his fate would be. All the while, her best friend had been suffering from the betray of his own brother. She felt like such a callous bitch.

“Lucky hasn't exactly been our strong point so far,” she replied, trying to make her tone light.

Varric shrugged, the his gaze turned soft. “This is true. I'm sorry, about what happened... to Junior.”

“He'll make it,” Anders interrupted, squeezing Hawke's shoulder in comfort. “Carver is stronger than he thinks.”

“I... should have seen Bartrand's betrayal coming,” Varric continued, looking guilty as his eyes fixed on the floor between them.

Hawke cupped his stubbled cheeks in her hands, tilting his face up to hers. “ _You_ have nothing to apologise for. That no good brother of yours...”

“I'll find that maggot, if it's the last thing I do,” the dwarf vowed, meeting her gaze. “I... imagine you'll be heading home to... tell the family.”

The knot of worry that had been present ever since Carver had started succumbing to the taint, tightened in her gut. “I don't have much choice.”

“I'll go with you,” Anders offered. “Maybe having a warden there to explain some things, might help your mother.”

A little bit of the tension left her gut, and she smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Do you... want me to come too?” Varric asked, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Hawke smiled, but shook her head. She could tell the dwarf was beating himself up just as much as she was.

“Just have the drinks waiting for us?” she asked, knowing full well she wouldn't be staying at Gamlin's that night.

“Sure thing Hawke,” he agreed. “And remember, with what we found down there... you're going to be a wealthy woman, it wasn't all for nothing.”

 


	12. Touch (Fenris PoV)

Despite Varric warning them what had happened in the Deep Roads, Fenris hadn't been expecting to see Hawke looking quite so haggered, when she entered the tavern with the abomination. All the other patrons of the Hanged Man had turned and raised their glasses to her, as they always did, calling her name in greeting. Hawke managed a smile for them, though he noticed it didn't quite reach her normally vibrant eyes. Now they were rimmed with red, a telltale sign she had been crying. She was still clad in what must have been the armour she'd worn throughout the entire Deep Road excursion, for it was ripped and torn. Well beyond serviceable, much like Varric's had been when he had arrived two hours earlier. A bag was slung haphazardly over one shoulder, along with her quiver, and her bow was tightly clasped in her right had. Her mabari trotted along beside her, and it was obvious she didn't intend to return home... at least the night.

The abomination broke away from Hawke's side and headed to the bar, as she continued on her way to their usual table. Fenris frowned as she drew nearer, noticing the clear red mark on her left cheek, faintly resembling a hand print. He evidently wasn't the only one who saw it, for Aveline and Isabela exchanged a worried glance, and Varric muttered: "Shit", under his breath. However, it was the witch that rose from the table first. Fenris was about to growl a warning for her not to say anything stupid, but to his surprise, his fellow elf merely hugged Hawke tightly whilst cheerfully exclaiming how happy she was to see her again. Fenris was oddly relieved that the smile Hawke gave in reply was almost genuine.

"There's a bath waiting for you upstairs," Varric announced.

Hawke actually laughed. "Marry me?"

She stopped to kiss the dwarf on the temple as she passed on her way to the upper level, and an unfamiliar twinge pulled at Fenris' chest as he watched the pair. He was still never sure if anything was going on between them. They were always so close and familiar with each other, easy with casual affection in a way he'd never really witnessed before... not that he cared, not at all. But still, there was a heaviness in his chest as he watched her climb the battered stairs up to the dwarf's chamber, her mabari following close behind.

"Don't worry Broody, she'll be back to the Hawke we all know and love soon enough," Varric announced, catching Fenris off guard.

Before he could say anything in reply, to refute the dwarf's assumption that he was worried about the mage... even if he was, the abomination joined them at the table, setting two drinks down as he did. One for himself, and one obviously for Hawke when she returned.

"I take it didn't go too well with Leandra?" Aveline asked.

The abomination shook his head. "It wasn't all bad, but it could have gone better. I don't think she will want to return for a while. I can't believe how little Leandra seemed to care about what Marian experienced."

"Marian?" Isabela and Merrill asked together.

Fenris gritted his teeth, equally surprised by the revelation, but refusing to let the abomination know he'd been bothered by something so trivial. It wasn't like he actually cared that creature had found out something private about Hawke, that he hadn't been privileged to know.

Varric laughed. "You didn't know?”

"Before tonight, only the most handsome of dwarves were allowed the privilege,” Hawke quipped, as she rejoined them.

She was now clad in a simple green tunic and brown trews and boots. Her red hair was unbound, and fell about her face and shoulders, most hiding the mark on her cheek that was already beginning to fade. Fenris noticed her make up was also different from usual. Her lips were still the usual cherry red shade he was used to seeing, though her eyes were rimmed with a smoky blue, instead of the purple he'd always seen he wear before. He wondered why he was even noticing these things about her.

"That didn't take long. You staying here tonight?" Varric asked.

"Do you mind?" she countered, smiling thanks to the abomination as he passed her one of the mugs of ale.

"What's mine is yours, you know that," the dwarf replied.

To Fenris' surprise, instead of pulling up a stool to sit next to Varric as he expected Hawke to do, she sat in the empty chair next to him. She smiled tiredly at him, when he gave her a greeting nod, something he had meant to do when Hawke had first arrived. He was taken-a-back, when he heard her give a quite sad sigh, before downing her ale in just a few gulps. Fenris wasn't sure what to do, how to comfort her. If he were like Isabela or the witch, he would have hugged her. Aveline and the abomination would probably squeeze Hawke's hand or shoulder, and Varric would undoubtedly have pulled her into his lap and started regaling her with ridiculous stories. None of which felt comfortable to Fenris. Instead, he found his mouth speaking, almost against his will.

"If you have need, you are welcome to stay with me," he told her, to his own surprise, as much as anyone else's.

"You?!" the abomination demanded, incredulously.

"Now... there's an offer," Isabela purred.

"Whore," Aveline muttered.

Even though Fenris kept his gaze firmly on the mage in front of him, out the corner of his eye, he noticed Varric leaning back in his chair, regarding him thoughtfully. Fenris got the impression that if the dwarf had hold of his cross bow, he'd be caressing it menacingly. Hawke, for her part, just looked mildly surprised.

"Ooooh. Me too," Merrill chirped in, and Fenris had never been so thankful for the witch's interruption. "You can stay with me too, it will be just like a sleep over."

Hawke chuckled, reaching for the witch's hand across the table and giving it a squeeze. "Definitely," she smiled. "I'd love to come stay with you, I haven't had a sleep over since me and Bethany were little."

The witch positively bounced with excitement. Normally, her overenthusiastic nature would irk Fenris sorely. Now, he felt somehow in her debt, for distracting everyone from himself.

"Do you want to come Isabela? Aveline?" she asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Sure thing, kitten," the pirate laughed.

Aveline shrugged. "If I'm not working, I don't see why not."

As those three began plotting what they should do during said sleepover, which Fenris had assumed would simple involve sleeping, Hawke turned her attention back to him. He could feel the tip of his ears turning pink as she regarded him quietly.

"Are you sure I wouldn't be a burden?" she asked, seeming oddly hesitant.

Not trusting his mouth, lest he said something even stupidier to attract more attention to himself, Fenris simple nodded. Which unexpectedly drew a warm smile to Hawke's mouth.

"Thank you," she sighed, sounding relieved. "I'd love to get away from Low Town for a while, even for a night. I really appreciate this, Fenris. Would tomorrow be alright?"

Once again he nodded, hoping no one could hear how his heart hammered in his chest, as she ever so lightly rested her hand on his forearm. He was shocked at the gesture, but didn't fail to notice she touched him where no skin was exposed. An unfortunate incident when she had to heal him after a particularly nasty fight, where she'd almost had a hand through her chest, had resulted in him reluctantly explaining the markings hurt when touched. Hawke had been extremely cautious after that, at first Fenris had resented her for it, assuming she was only being careful to starve off any risk to herself, should he lash out again. However, that had soon changed as she constantly asked where was okay to touch him, whenever he needed healing. Her voice had always been kind and confident when she asked, never appearing to be nervous around him, so Fenris had eventually realised it was done out of care for him, rather than fear for herself. The realisation had left him unsettled.

Then again, Hawke had never touched him casually before, like she did the others; which was something Fenris was equally relieved and annoyed about. That was, until just then. Even though her touch had been feather light and fleeting, Fenris knew she'd made the gesture with as much conviction and feeling as when she kissed Varric or Isabela on the cheek, hugged Merrill, or clasped hands or forearms with Aveline and the abomination. The fact that she'd taken such obvious care... at least to Fenris... not to cause him any discomfort or pain, made the gesture seem even more weighted. And he had no idea why that meant _anything_ to him.

 


	13. As the Year's Go By (Hawke PoV)

Three years. Three very strange, very disconcerting, and oddly peaceful years. Marian Hawke often found it hard to get her head around all that had happened since returning from the Deep Roads. Leandra had managed to successfully petition the Viscount for the old Amell estate, a relatively easy task, since it had never been Gamlin's to sell in the first place. The vast amount of money, for it really was an unbelievable sum, that had been split between herself and Varric, meant that the old estate was now completely refurbished. Each room had been gutted and cleansed of the slavers' presence, and restored to it's former glory, though with the added modern convenience of the latest in dwarven plumbing. Bodahn and his son had come to live with them, the older Feddic taking it upon himself to become the household's manservant. In truth, having servants unsettled Hawke a little. Though one late night conversation with Bodahn over some hot cocoa, regarding his concerns for Sandle, had eased her conscience a little. If the two dwarves were residing in her estate, at least the younger Feddic was safe, and that was something Hawke was determined to ensure. She was very fond of the unusual dwarf.

Her mother seemed happier too. Since leaving Gamlin's hovel, she'd adopted what had been her old lifestyle with startling ease. At times, Hawke couldn't help wonder if the older woman regretted running off with her father. Then, in the quiet evening hours, Hawke would watch how her mother would carefully caress the spine of the only spell book she'd managed to bring from Lothering. It was the only item they possessed of her father's, other than his old staff that Bethany had been carrying. They had only managed to smuggle that into Kirkwall, by unscrewing and hiding the staff head in Aveline's pack, and having mother use the stave as a walking stick. Now it hung above the main hall's fire place, along with one of Carver's old long swords, and a custom made shield that bore both the old Amell and the new Hawke family insignias. Something that was only made possible thanks to Varric's ties within the merchant guild. Bryn had also settled into estate life rather well. Given that he was a mabari used to running the fields of Lothering, he seemed to fair far better within the halls of the estate, than he ever did at Gamlin's. Though, that may have been because of Sandle constantly wanting to play with him, something Bryn did not seem to mind one iota, despite his advancing age. More good news came in the few, sparing letters from Carver. He'd survived the joining ritual... whatever that entailed, and had become a warden, just as Anders had predicted. Even though Hawke hadn't seen her little brother since that fateful day, his bi-yearly letters gave her some semblance of a relationship with him, and by all accounts in his writing, Carver was flourishing within the warden ranks. She was proud of him, as was their mother, and even though both women knew it was unlikely he would ever share the estate with them, they'd both agreed one of the spare rooms should be set aside, and decorated to be his.   
  
Despite all that had happened, Hawke's life had changed very little. Sure she now had wealth, estate and a title. Which allowed her to have better clothes, armour and weapons. Though she adamantly refused to wear the dresses her mother tried to press upon her. Dresses had been more Bethany's forte, Hawke herself had never been that sort of woman, and she refused to let their new circumstances change her. A compromise had been reached however, and when she was not in armour, Hawke had adopted to wearing a black velvet dress coat. Teamed with black trews and boots, along with a white silken undershirt. The outfit was offset by a vivid red sash that she wore about her waist in place of a belt. Her armour, which she still needed as there were still thrice weekly treks to either the Wounded Coast or Sundermount, in a bid to help ease Aveline's work load, had also changed. Gone were the oversized and ill-fitting garments. Replaced by fine, grey leather trousers and boots, along with a rich blue tunic trimmed with black, that had chainmail discretely sewn between the outer fabric and the lining. A trick she'd learnt Varric used for his own armour. The chaffing gloves had been replaced by elegant, black leather wrist wraps, that left her fingers free for easy use of her bow. It was the same bow that Varric had given her many years before, with only the quality of arrows being improved. For even with the safety that her wealth and title gave her, Hawke wasn't about to go around advertising she was a mage.   
  
She had also shared her wealth with her friends. Anders had originally refused any cut of the takings from the Deep Roads, insisting he didn't deserve them. Though before long, Hawke had had convinced him to let her at least equip the clinic with better supplies, and new stock was discretely delivered every week. Aveline had graciously accepted a sizeable donation to the city guards. Equipping the men and women under her command with better weaponry, and improving the barracks tenfold. Merrill had dithered when offered a sum of the money, unsure what to do with it, and confessing she was concerned improving her home in the Alienage might make her a target for break ins. Instead, Hawke had settled for equipping her fellow mage for battle, starting with more substantial armour, and a staff that looked more like an elegant walking cane, than a mage's weapon; in the hopes it would keep the Templars to looking to closely at the petite elf. Isabela had declared she would only take a cut in the form of good alcohol and good company, which was what she received... the most expensive rum Hawke could find, and a week long stay at The Blooming Rose. She'd also bought the pirate new daggers, along with new, slightly more practical armour. Though all of that still sat, undisturbed, in Isabela's room at the Hanged Man, for the pirate queen had yet to return from her jaunt at the brothel.

Fenris had been the hardest of them all, as far as Hawke was concerned. He had outright refused to accept any money from her, and she wondered if it stirred up bad memories from his time as a slave. However he had, albeit reluctantly, agreed to let her provide him with a better long sword, as well as letting her pay for some of Varric's more... interesting contacts, to finally take care of the magically preserved corpses that had littered his stolen mansion since the first night they'd met. The rest of the place was still falling apart, much to Hawke's dismay, but at least she no longer had to worry that the elven warrior would catch anything from the lingering dead bodies. She'd also taken it upon herself to bring him fresh food and drink every other day. It was never anything grand, for Hawke knew Fenris wouldn't appreciate it. So she stuck to simple fair such as bread, cheese and the red apples he seemed to take a liking to. At first, he'd seemed even more wary of her than he did before, if that was possible. It was as if he was waiting for her to turn on him, to prove that all his fears and hatred of mages were correct. Though as time wore on, and her visits turned from fleeting meetings as she dropped off the food or asked him on a mission, to lengthier ones that could either be filled with rambling conversation or spent in comfortable silence... Fenris' demeanour had seemed to soften around her, but only in private. Which was fine with Hawke, as it was still an immense improvement.

In truth, Hawke had been worried that all her friends' attitudes would have changed towards her. Well... all bar Varric. She'd never worried that her best friend would turn from her. But to her relief, her fears had proved unfounded. Even without Carver, they were still the extremely unconventional group of companions, that somehow managed not to kill one another, despite their stark differences. None of them treated her any differently than before, and Merrill was forever giggling at how she cringed whenever someone called her 'Lady Hawke'. To Hawke, it sounded like a character from some tragic romance... one that Varric had jokingly promised to write her. At least, Hawke hoped he'd been joking. Since she knew he was already writing a serial based on Aveline, no matter how much he denied that the now Guard-Captain was the inspiration behind the heroine. The actually biggest change to the group dynamic had come from them acquiring a new member... or adopting, as Isabela had taken to saying. Sebastian Vael was an extremely good looking, former prince of Starkhaven; a neighbouring city state, and was a brother in the chantry. They'd first met when Hawke had decided to take on the task of eliminating a group of mercenaries that had killed a family. The family had turned out to be Sebastian's, who had turned out to be a fine archer. At first, Hawke had been wary of him, as had Anders and Merrill, the latter never going out on missions if he were in the party, just to be on the safe side. The others had also kept a close eye on the new comer, even Fenris, much to Hawke's surprise. Though the suspicion was starting to wan now, after working and socialising with the archer for a number of weeks. And tonight, they were all gathering at the Hanged Man, for a night of Wicked Grace. Which just went to show, some things never changed.

* * *

 **Author's Note  
** **Hawke's finery is inspired by a mod on the DA2nexus (I'm sorry, I can't remember the name of it) & the armour description is inspired by some in game rogue armour (that my mage Hawke was able to wear, due to a mod that lets Hawke equip anything in the game, from any class).**  
'Lady Hawke' is reference to a 1985 film, it has the type of plot you could image Varric creating!

 


	14. Revelations (Fenris PoV)

"So the seneschal's tax collector wont be coming around again, like you asked," Isabela informed, setting her now empty bottle on the table. "Funny story..."

Fenris rolled his eyes and held up his hand for peace. Knowing the pirate, there were only two ways she would have dealt with the issue. She'd either slept with the man, or killed him, and either story would undoubtedly be sensational.

"I'll pass, but thank you for the help," he replied.

"Spoil sport," Isabela pouted. "Why you want to squat up here in Hightown, is beyond me."

He gave an non-committal shrug. "I like the view."

In truth, there were many reasons he chose to stay in the dilapidated mansion. For one, he shuddered at the thought of living in the Alienage, which is undoubtedly where he would be forced to live otherwise. The only other place he could think of was the Hanged Man, though Fenris imagined Isabela would then take it as a challenge to bed him. Not that she hadn't already been trying for the past three years, but it was easier to rebuff her advances when he live so far away. Other than that, living in Hightown gave Fenris an odd sort of anonymity. Even though the nobles would scowl at him; _if_ they ever saw him, they gave him a wide birth and never tried to speak to him. Which suited him perfectly. There was also Marian Hawke, who now lived just a short distance away, in a much nicer mansion than his. It wasn't that he enjoyed her regular visits, or worried she would not seek him out as frequently should he live elsewhere. No... Fenris was still just keeping an eye on the most powerful mage in Kirkwall, even if the redhead had come to take up more room in his thoughts than she needed to.

Of course, that was the moment exact moment Hawke walked through the door, into his sparse room. She was clad in the form fitting blue tunic, black trews and boots that made up her discrete armour. However, her red hair was unbounded, falling to her shoulders in waves, and reflecting the firelight from the hearth in an almost dazzling way. Her wrists and hands were free from her usual gloves, and her bow was nowhere to be seen. It all indicating that she had come on a social call, rather than with a mission. A small smile tugged at Fenris' lips as he regarded her, and naturally, the pirates gaze followed his.

"So do I," Isabela purred.

Those three little words where laden with so much innuendo, that Fenris felt the tips of his ears start to burn, certain they were turning pink. With an almost feline grin, the pirate slunk out of the chair she'd been reclining in, and sashayed towards Hawke. Fenris watched as Isabela grabbed the mage and tugged her into a hug. Hawke returned the gesture briefly, before she swatted the pirate lightly on the head. If previous interactions between the pair were any indication, Isabela had probably squeezed Hawke's rear, and Fenris was certain his ears were now glowing red.

"Harlot," Marian laughed, playfully shoving the pirate away.

"You love it," Isabela winked, before finally leaving the room.

Unlike with Varric, Fenris did not have to guess at the relationship the two women had. On more than one occasion, Hawke had stated she simply wasn't interested in woman in 'that way'. Unsurprisingly, it didn't stop Isabela's flirting. If anything, it only made her come on more strongly. Marian only ever laughed, some times humouring the pirate and playing along, other times simply rolling her eyes whilst smiling. At first, it had bothered Fenris, to see Hawke subjected to attention she wasn't interested in, but after a while he had come to realise that Marian accepted everyone for exactly who they were. So if the pirate wanted to flirt with her, she wasn't bothered by it. He respected that about her... that she was open minded about people. It set her apart from almost everyone he had ever met, not just other mages.

"Copper for your thoughts," Hawke said.

Her words made Fenris realise he'd been lost in thought, and looking towards her, he found Marian seated in the chair Isabela had not long vacated. She was smiling at him, soft and gentle. It was a smile that seemed to set his heart beating just a little faster in his chest, for reasons he couldn't explain. Which had become the annoying yet inevitable reaction, whenever they were alone together. Tentatively, Fenris returned her smile, before offering her the nearly empty bottle of wine he'd been drinking out of. It was times like these that Fenris did start to hate the condition he lived in. Hawke was a lady now, she should be drinking out of fine crystal wear at some fancy party, not swigging out a bottle in his dingy mansion. And yet, she accepted the bottle without hesitation, and quickly swallowed the remaining mouthful of the rich red liquid. And the pink tip of her tongue peaked out between her soft looking, crimson lips, as she licked the remaining droplets of wine lips, momentarily distracted him. It wasn't until Fenris watched her mouth quirk into an amused smile, which appeared like she was trying not to laugh, that he realised he had been staring. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Three years..." he stated, unable to meet up verdant eyes. "And there's still no sign of Danarius. I'm beginning to wonder if he's finally given up."

Fenris wasn't sure why that was what he chose to start a conversation with, but it seemed safer ground than any of the other topics that were floating around his head. With an inaudible sigh, he reached for another bottle of wine, one of several that were set by the side of his chair. Deftly, he uncorked it, and inhaled the aroma. A light, crisp fragrance that he knew hid an unexpected dryness. He offered the bottle to Marian first, who smiled in appreciation, before taking a drink.

"This is his mansion, isn't?" Hawke asked, handing him back the bottle. "He must know you're here."

"Would you be surprised to learn, in fact, it isn't his mansion?" he asked, sitting back in his chair. "It belongs to a Tevinter merchant, one that has evidently given up on the place."

Marian's eyes cast about his pathetic excuse of a room, her gaze fixing on the large gaping hole in the roof. "Evidently.”

"Perhaps he is dead, perhaps Danarius killed him," Fenris continued. "Either way, if Danarius is aware of my presence, he has done nothing."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Hawke asked.

"Yes... but..." He paused, taking a large gulp of wine before offering the bottle to the mage. "Tell me, what do you do when you stop running?"

Her smile had turned sad as she regarded him, and Fenris knew Marian was remembering her lost siblings and how they'd escaped the blight. He thought he heard her sigh, before she drank a hearty mouthful of the slightly warm wine. It was certainly a drink that was best served chilled, so Fenris wasn't surprised when her nose wrinkled a little at the taste. It was actually rather endearing, and that realisation shocked him more than he cared to admit. She was a mage, and at any moment she would frivolously flaunt her powers by chilling the bottle, proving she had no regard for his feelings on magic. However, Hawke simply sat the bottle on the table, regarding it like it had somehow offended her deeply, and Fenris was hard pressed not to laugh at how disgruntled she looked. Though he supposed, even if she detested the wine, it had at least eradicated the sadness that was in her eyes previously.

"You start over," she stated, her voice soft. "Isn't that what you want?"

For a silent moment, Fenris regarded the bottle that sat between them on the table, as if it held some sort of answer. Hawke's question had caught him uncomfortably off guard, and he didn't know how to answer without making himself seem foolish. Despite being what most would consider a free man for over three years, Fenris still felt like an escaped slave, one that was forever looking over his shoulder, waiting for his old master to arrive. Cautiously, he looked up at her through the layers of his fringe, feeling strangely nervous. Which was not something he usually felt in Hawke's presence, her company on nights like this, was usually relaxing.

"I don't know how," Fenris admitted, reluctantly.

He expected to see either pity or derision in Hawke's gaze, however, she merely smiled at him kindly. Almost like she could understand. Maybe she could, since she was an apostate mage who had spent her life running from Templars and the Chantry. Perhaps, she did know the need to remain constantly vigilant, always looking over her shoulder.

"My first memories are of receiving these markings," he continued, regarding the swirls of white that were left exposed by his fingerless gloves."The lyrium being branded into my flesh. The agony wiped away everything. Whatever life I had before I became a slave, is lost."

Fenris shook his head, disgusted at himself. He didn't know why he was admitting this to Hawke, he'd never spoken of it to anyone. Now he was revealing it to a mage, who would undoubtedly hold it over him somehow. And if she didn't, she would obviously pity him, treat him differently. Other than that, Fenris knew Marian had her own problems. Her father and sister dead, her brother so far out of reach she may never see him again, her own welfare to look after, as well as her mother. She didn't need to hear his woes. With an angry sigh, he abruptly stood.

"I shouldn't trouble you with this," Fenris stated, barely glancing at her. "My problems are not yours."

There was a mild look of hurt that briefly flashed across Hawke's verdant eyes, much to Fenris' surprise. Then she gave him a half smile, one that usually meant she thought your were being ridiculous. It was actually a look that had often been reserved for either Carver or the abomination. For a moment, it looked like she was about to stand, maybe to close the distance between them. But instead, Hawke shifted her position in the chair, propping her elbow on the armrest, and resting her cheek on an open palm. She regarded him warmly.

"I might be able to help with your problems," Marian replied, before her smile turned into a smirk. "Or give you a few more."

He was momentarily take aback, wondering if he had heard her right. Hawke was always more subtle in the way she flirted than Isabela was, and what she said never failed to bring a smile to his lips. This was no exception, and despite his slight surprise, Fenris chuckled. He certainly hadn't expected that sort of reply, and for all his common sense, he couldn't say he was upset by what she might be insinuating. Despite his better judgement, Fenris did like Marian, after all.

"Only a few?" he retorted.

She lowered her lashes slowly, almost coquettishly, before looking back up at him with unbridled mischief in her eyes. "The good kind.”

An unexpected warmth was beginning to spread through his body, one Fenris wasn't accustomed to. As she sat looking up at him, her expression open and honest, regardless of her flirting, he realised that he did find her beautiful. Of course, he'd known Hawke was attractive from the moment they'd met, and time had taught him it wasn't just her looks that made her so; even if she was a mage. However, Fenris had never realised that he thought of the redhead as beautiful, until that very moment. It was a jarring realisation, as was the thought that she might be actually interested in him. Sure, there'd been odd times over the years when Hawke had flirted with him, ones that had left Fenris feeling both confused and flattered. All the previous times had left him feeling disconcerted, but they had been vague and easily laughed off. This seemed like a genuine offer, and Fenris felt oddly thrilled by the prospect. However, other than the unwelcome fact that she was a mage, Marian Hawke was also a woman of vast wealth and standing. His past experiences had taught him it was a volatile combination, and there was a chance she was merely setting him up to humiliate him. It was the type of thing that he'd often witnessed in Tevinter, and Fenris was also acutely aware of the close relationship she shared with Varric.

"Tempting..." he said at length. "You're a beautiful woman, Hawke. Is there no one else that has your... attention?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow, a softer smile replacing her smirk. "I didn't quite catch that first part..."

Fenris chuckled. "I don't need to repeat the obvious, I'm certain."

There was a moment, when Fenris thought he caught the slight hint of a blush on her porcelain cheeks. Though Marian dipped her head slightly before he could be sure, leaving him to think it could have been the firelight reflecting off her auburn hair. She really was a beautiful woman, though her beauty only highlighted the bleakness and neglect of his room. If Hawke was truly being serious, something that Fenris was struggling to comprehend, he knew he had nothing to offer her.

"I'm an escaped slave, and an elf... living in a borrowed mansion. None of those things bother you?" he asked, almost dreading the answer.

Hawke once again looked like she was trying not to laugh, and Fenris was sure he had just fallen for her trick. That she was surely going to deride him for being so foolish as to believe she was being serious. To out right mock him for the sliver of hope he had felt that she was being serious. However, Hawke simply shook her head.

"And I'm an apostate refugee," she countered. "Does that not bother you?"

Her words surprised him. Not only because he didn't realise that was how Marian Hawke saw herself, as simply another Ferelden refuge and not the noblewoman most others treated her as. But also for that fact that when he thought about it, as much as he tried to, her being a mage didn't seem _that_ much of an issue. He was still distrustful of magic, and suspicious of mages, but there was something vastly different about Marian Hawke, something that set her apart. And the realisation startled a laugh from him.

"You have me there," he admitted, feeling nervous again. "You raise an interesting point. I'll have to... consider it."

 


	15. Unexpected Confessions (Hawke PoV)

Freshly bathed and clad in her black dress coat and trews, her armour away for repair at the barrack's smith... thanks to a well aimed Tal-Vashoth spear, Hawke headed for Fenris' mansion. She hadn't been there for a private visit for a few days, not since she'd admitted her interest in the warrior. He'd been adorable in his rather obvious surprise, and very sweet with the compliments that he'd given. However, Fenris had indicated he needed time to consider it, and Hawke had diligently granted him that request. Now though, she was concerned for him. Despite being the unnerving powerhouse they had all come to expect of him during a skirmish, Fenris had seemed more distant than usual during the day's mission, especially once the last of the attacking Tal-Vashoth had been dealt with. It wasn't unusual for him to be silent on their trek back from the Wounded Coast, but it had almost seemed as if a rain cloud had followed the elven warrior.

Ironically, a light rain was falling as Hawke hurried along the mostly deserted streets. She only paused on her way to call out a greeting to the pair of lamplighters, that were preparing Hightown for the coming evening. Though before long, Marian was calling out another greeting and trying to squeeze the worst of the rain out of her hair, as she climbed the cracked stone staircase that led to the room that was Fenris' abode. Worryingly, Hawke wasn't surprised to see him drinking out of a bottle, with two empty ones lying discarded on the battered table, and she shook her head at the sight. Really, all of their group enjoyed a drink, and even Anders and Sebastian had been known to indulge. But secretly, Hawke worried about the amount Fenris drank. She half worried it was a coping mechanism, and the other half wondered if it was a slow plot to kill himself, for she doubted his liver would continue to be able to keep up with the amount he drank.

"The last bottle of the Agreggio," Fenris announced, holding the bottle up in a salute. "I've been saving if for a special occasion."

"And what's that?" Hawke asked, a little cautiously.

She accepted the bottle as he handed it to her, slightly relieved that it's weight indicated little had been drunk of it. Not that it was much comfort, considering the other two bottles of slightly less potent wine that lay empty on the table. Still, it seemed Fenris was inviting her to join in with whatever he was celebrating, and Hawke supposed it was better than letting him drink alone. So she took a hearty gulp of the rich red wine, before handing it back to him. She was a little surprised when she felt Fenris' fingers ghost along hers as he accepted the bottle, but said nothing. Instead, she sat in the remaining armchair by the table, silently wishing that they could sit by the fire. The rain hadn't been heavy, but Hawke's clothes were not as dry as she would have liked them to be, and she knew the chill of the mansion would soon set in.

"The anniversary of my escape," he declared. "Astia valla femundis! Care to hear the story?"

Fenris leant forward in his chair, regarding her intently. There was a easy smile on his lips, one Hawke hadn't seen before. Even though it probably spoke of just how inebriated her friend was, it was actually rather charming and endearing. Smiling suited him. Considering that Fenris spoke very little of his past, Hawke figured it had to be a good thing that he wanted to talk, drunk or not. She smiled at him warmly.

"I enjoy listening to you talk," she winked.

His smile turned into a slight smirk, that sent an unexpected tingle down her spine.

"There are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman..." Fenris complimented. "Let's see, you've heard of Seheron? The Imperium and the Qunari have fought over the island for centuries now. I was there with Danarius during a Qunari attack, I managed to get him to a ship, but there was no room for a slave. I was left behind, I barely got out of the city alive."

Expecting Fenris wouldn't appreciate any sort of sympathy, Hawke settled for the dry humour he always seemed to enjoy. "There's nothing like war for covering one's escape."

"I had no intention of escaping, that time..." he admitted, much to her surprise. "There are rebels in the Seheron jungles called 'Fog Warriors', they found me and took me in. Nursed me back to health. I stayed with them for a time, until Danarius finally came for me."

"Were you with these Fog Warriors willingly?" she asked, surprised he'd stayed where his old master could find him so easily.

"I'd grown... fond of the rebels." Fenris explained. "They bowed to no master, and fought for their freedom. It was... beyond my experience." Sighing, he snatched the bottle of wine off the table. "When Danarius came, they refused to let him take me." Fenris took a long drink, as if stalling for time. "He ordered me to kill them," he continued, refusing to meet her eyes. "So I did. I... killed them all."

Despite Hawke's best efforts, a gasp of shock escaped her. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Fenris kept his head bowed, with his elbows rested on his knees, and the bottle of wine clasped tightly in his hands. "It felt inevitable. My master had returned and this, this fantasy life was over." Beneath his white fringe, Fenris' brow furrow. "But when it was done... I looked down at their bodies, and I felt... I couldn't... I ran. And never looked back."

Trying to fight the wave of nausea that hit her, Hawke took a deep breath. She could imagine how hard it'd been for Fenris to tell her his story, and from the way he sat, looking so dejected, Hawke realised he was expecting a truly negative reaction from her. She couldn't deny that it made her feel sick, but it was more at the realisation of the control that the bastard had over her friend, than what Fenris had actually done. It was plain to see he tortured himself, over what he had happened. Berating him wouldn't help, and she honestly didn't think he deserved it. What Fenris needed was help to move on, and to fully break free of his old master's hold, once and for all.

"I have to wonder, why you stayed with Danarius as long as you did," she stated, carefully.

He glanced up at her then, seeming slightly surprised. "You have not been a slave. A slave does not dream of freedom, or wonder at possibilities. You think only of your master's desires, or what the next hour will bring. It did not occur to me I could be anything else, until I had a taste of it."

Marian frowned. "There are stories of slaves rebelling all the time, and they were successful in Kirkwall."

"The ritual that gave me my markings also stripped me of my memory," Fenris replied. "Whatever I was before, may as well have never been. Perhaps if I knew, I may have felt differently."

"Thank you, for telling me," she said, quietly. "I imagine this isn't easy to talk about."

Fenris raised the bottle to his lips, before taking a large gulp. "I've never spoke about what happened... to anyone," he admitted, once again not quite meeting her eyes. "I've never wanted too... perhaps this is what it means to have a friend."

"Just a friend?" Hawke teased, smiling at him warmly. She hoped it would lift his melancholy mood.

"I... have... never allowed... anyone... too close," Fenris stuttered. "When my markings were created, the pain was... extraordinary, and the memory lingers. But you are unlike any woman I have ever met," he said, almost shyly. "With you, it might be different."

His revelation floored her. Fenris was a strikingly handsome man, to think he hadn't been with anyone... seemed rather preposterous actually. Then again, Hawke could clearly remember the day he had almost stuck his hand through her chest, when she had touched him wrong when healing him. Despite being scared witless, she had felt awful for causing him pain, and if even the gentlest of touches caused him agony, Hawke could appreciate that he tried to avoid physical contact. She also felt flattered he would consider it with her. It spoke of a trust she didn't know he had in her.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Marian asked, gently.

Fenris eyes looked haunted for a moment, before glancing away. Instantly, Hawke wished she hadn't asked, he looked so embarrassed. Though there was something that was niggling at the back of her mind. It was something about what he was and wasn't saying, the way he was acting... It led Hawke to believe that what Fenris actually meant, was that there hadn't been anyone he'd _chosen_ to be with. After hearing the tales he'd shared of Danarius and Hadriana, Hawke had little doubt they would have simply taken anything and everything they wanted. And as much as she hated the idea, she got the feeling Fenris had suffered a great many abuses at their hands.

"If there was someone before, I have no memory of it," he admitted.

"There was no one after you escaped?" Marian queried, hedging her bets.

"I stayed nowhere for long, and who would I trust?" Fenris asked. "I didn't think I needed anyone, or wanted anyone... until now."

Hawke smiled at him warmly. "We could find out..."

 


	16. Quiet Attentions (Fenris PoV)

Fenris' heart felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest. After all he'd admitted, after all he had hinted at, she... Marian Hawke, was still showing interested in him. Offering herself to him even. He blinked and fought the urge to rub his eyes, he must be dreaming. Fenris sat back heavily in his chair. Despite the wine that he'd drank, his throat felt parched. He must have misheard her, because there was simply no way what he _had_ heard was reality. One part of Fenris' mind was screaming at him to take her up on the offer, the offer that _had_ just been uttered, he was sure of it... to simply surge forward, and crash his lips into hers, to wrap his fingers in her auburn hair, as he'd found himself dreaming about. The other part demanded that he run!

This was Marian Hawke, _Lady_ Hawke, that sat in front of him. What the hell was he thinking, even allowing himself to dream of her, as he'd done for the past three nights since she'd told him of her interest. It was sheer madness. Hawke was a noblewoman, she deserved someone charming, witty and well respected... like Varric, or even Sebastian. Not some pathetic ex-slave like he was, and that was another thing... Fenris hadn't actually been lying when he had said there had been no one he could remember, for there really was no one who he'd _willingly_ been with. However, that did not mean he had never been with anyone, and Fenris fought hard to repress the shudder that the memories brought on. Danarius and Hadriana had never taken no for an answer, and on many occasions he was forced into things he did not want to do, and suffered beatings when he tried to resist. The thought that Hawke might find out...

"On... another evening? Perhaps..." Fenris said, hurriedly. Trying to offer her a smile of apology.

Hawke smirked. "A pleasant thought, but not exactly what I meant."

He blinked at her, unsure of her meaning, because he wasn't sure here _was_ another meaning to what she had said. However, Hawke merely set her left hand on the table between them, her palm facing upwards, almost as an invitation. Cautiously, Fenris sat the half filled bottle to one side, before nervously running his uncovered fingertips over her bare palm. The skin of her hand was warm and mostly soft, save for the flesh directly beneath her fingers, where he knew she gripped her bow tightly. Fenris imagined that on Marian's right hand, he would find callouses on her thumb and forefinger, perhaps her middle finger too, marked from the notching of arrows and pulling back bow strings. He started slightly, when it seemed she had read his mind, and lay her right hand on the table next to her left. Once again, she held it palm up, offering Fenris the feel of her skin, but on his own terms. Even though he was surprised by Hawke's actions, Fenris let himself indulge in tracing the faint lines of her skin, despite his nerves. He was unsure how long passed, before Marian gently cleared her throat.

"May I?" she asked, looking at his hands.

Fenris swallowed audibly, and he inwardly cringed at how weak he must appear. He desperately hoped she didn't notice how his hands shook, as he nervously removed his arm guards along with his fingerless gloves. The white lyrium brands stood out starkly against his olive skin, and a wave of revulsion hit him. Fenris tried to avoid seeing his naked skin as much as possible, even if the clothing he wore often aggravated the markings. The discomfort was often more preferable than the memories that were evoked by looking at the brands. However, Fenris tentatively lay his hands on the table, as Hawke had done before him. His heart was once again pounding in his chest, and he found he could only look at Marian by glancing through his fringe. Excitement, fear, longing and apprehension all warred for dominance as he watched her simply regard his exposed hands. Fenris had no idea what she thought of the markings, and part of him thought he'd rather keep it that way. Though gently, so very gently, Hawke's fingertips stroked the tips of his own fingers. The touch was feather light, causing none of the discomfort Fenris expected.

"Tell me to stop if I do something wrong," she instructed, her voice soft and kind.

Her forethought touched Fenris in a way he hadn't expected. Despite Hawke being a mage, he'd come to almost expect her gentle nature, her thoughtfulness for others. Yet it still caught him off guard when she directed that kindness towards him. He wasn't sure how Marian had managed to make such an unusual request seem so perfectly ordinary, but she had, and he felt indebted to her for that. For not making his fears feel like shortcomings, for quietly respecting them. He'd never expected to find such easy acceptance with anyone, let alone a mage. It was also a welcome surprise that Hawke's touch didn't cause any of the pain he'd expected. In hushed silence, Fenris watched as Marian traced the skin near to his markings, evidently following the patterns, but never directly making contact with the brands. Her ministrations were pleasant and soothing, something Fenris had never dared hope for before.

* * *

** Author's Note **   
**Just another idea that has been buzzing around my head for a long time. Because, as much as I liked their romance in game (obviously), their sex scene seemed VERY sudden to me!**

 


	17. The Gift of Knowledge (Hawke PoV)

As it often did when she walked the darkening streets to Fenris' mansion, it rain. The deluge soaked through Hawke's cloak and ran in rivulets along the pavement, into the gutters. Really, it was a typical Autumn evening in Kirkwall. Typical except for the errand Hawke was currently running. The previous night, she'd cleared out some Dog Lords from the alienage with Varric, Isabela and Merrill. And as she often did after a battle, despite now being consider a noble, Hawke had rummaged around the discarded crates and sacks for anything that may be of use to her, or her motley group of companions... a habit formed from her time as a refugee, and one Marian had not been able to shake. Her investigations had actually proved fruitful for a change, and she'd unearthed a dog-eared copy of 'A Slave's Life'. The actual book she'd found was too damaged to actually give as a gift, but it had given Hawke an idea. So thanks to Varric's contacts, she'd acquired a pristine version of the tome, and left the salvaged one in Bodhan's capable hands... as the dwarf was convinced he would be able to repair the book's damage. But the new book was what led Hawke out in the pouring rain, bound for Fenris' dilapidated mansion. As usual, she let herself in and made her way up to the sole room he'd made somewhat habitable, making a conscious effort not to quieten her footsteps as she would at her own home. She found Fenris seated on the floor by the hearth, staring into the flames that crackled and danced in the slight draft coming from the hole in the ceiling. He turned in her direction, offering a nod of greeting, before gesturing to the bench that had been moved closer to the fire.

"I have something for you," Hawke greeted, smiling.

Gratefully, she hurried towards him, eager to be free of the heavy weight of her soaked cloak, as well as keen to give her friend the small gift she'd brought. In truth, Hawke was also a little apprehensive about giving Fenris the book. He always seemed so uncertain when gifts were offered or given too him, even during common feast days such as Satinalia, so Hawke was a little unsure how he would feel about a spontaneous gift. Still, he accepted the leather bound tome, though looked at her questioningly.

"It's a... a book...?" Fenris replied, seeming both confused and surprised.

"I thought you might like it," she explained, discarding her cloak on one side of the bench. "The book is by Shartan, the elf that helped Andraste free the slaves. You... know of him, right?"

"A little," he acknowledged, still regarding to book like it might bite him. "It's just..." Fenris paused, sighing. "Slaves are not permitted to read... I've never learned."

Despite how defeated her companion sounded, Hawke couldn't help the small smile that pulled at her lips. In truth, she'd suspected as much. Namely thanks to how broody Fenris became, whenever Varric would produce another manuscript for herself or Isabela to read, when they were all gathered at the Hanged Man. She'd noticed how he would squint at the neatly flowing writing, only to grunt in annoyance and scowl into his mug of cheap ale... the only type of ale the Hanged Man served. But instead of making Hawke regret her gift, she felt it helped champion the cause that she'd been working on for three long years... helping her friend move on from his past.

"You're not a slave anymore, Fenris," she said, gently. "It's not too late to learn."

"Isn't it?" he replied, brusquely. "Sometimes, I wonder..."

Fenris' tone quickly softened to something almost wistful, and Hawke couldn't resist the urge to lean forward and lay her hand gently over the top of his. The one still clutched the book tightly. Since the night they'd admitted their attraction to each other, the pair had shared similar evenings a handful of times. Quiet nights spent exchanging gentle, explorative touches. Never really moving passed hand holding, and the occasional chaste kiss on the cheek. Moving at the slow pace that Fenris was comfortable with, which Hawke was more than happy to do.

"I don't mean to seem ungrateful," Fenris stated, glancing at her from beneath his fringe. "I do appreciate the thought."

"The offer is there," Marian smiled. "I managed to teach Carver to read, and you're nowhere near as pig headed as he is."

That startled a chuckle from Fenris, and he finally looked up at her properly, offering her a tentative smile. His fingers released their death grip on the book, and gently caressed her own. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, as if trying to gage the sincerity of her words. Before glancing down at the tome, then back at Marian. His smile widened.

"I've always wanted to learn more of Shartan," Fenris replied. "Perhaps this is my chance."

 


	18. Spell it Out (Fenris PoV)

Fenris had been shocked when Hawke had first presented him with the book. Shocked that she thought him important enough to gift him it in the first place, for no apparent reason, and also shocked that she didn't seem to realise he couldn't read. For if she did, why would she have given him such an item? He'd struggled to admit to her the reason for his hesitation, to reveal even a slither of the extent that his life as a slave had crippled him by. And once again, Hawke had surprised him. Fenris had feared she might laugh at his short comings, or... perhaps worse, that she would pity him for it and give some empty platitude. However, Marian did neither and simply offered to teach him. At first, Fenris had thought he had misheard her. Though when she had mentioned that he was less 'pig headed' than her brother, he was forced to realise that her offer was genuine. The notion pleased him more than he expected, and Fenris had found himself accepting her invitation, even if it was done so a little hesitantly. That had been two nights ago, and Fenris now found himself sat in Hawke's study, in front of a roaring fire, as rain once again pelted the window pains.

Marian had requested that the lessons were held at her family mansion, stating that all the materials were already there, and would make it easier. Fenris had no idea at the time what the supplies were, but had given acquiescent to her request. However, she'd requested he arrive promptly at midday, and at first, Fenris didn't think much of it, supposing Hawke had engagements later on. That had changed when the family's manservant; Bodahn, had ushered him into the dinning room. There, Fenris had found Marian dressed in a simple black tunic that reached her hips, coupled with a pair of tan trews. Her mother; Leandra was also present, wearing the type of dress that was common for the noble women of Kirkwall. The scene of the two women chatting amicably was not surprising, but what had made it usual... or at least unexpected, was that the dining table was set for five. Gleaming porcelain, silver and crystal shone on the mahogany surface of the polished table.

Bodahn's son had already been seated, a heaped plate of food before him, and Hawke's mabari led at his feet, obviously waiting for titbits to be offered. The elder Lady Hawke had been pouring what appeared to be sparkling wine into the cut crystal goblets, as Marian dished steaming vegetables onto the remaining four plates. Awkwardly, Fenris cleared his throat and when Hawke noticed him, she had given him an unexpected wink. Her mother had smiled warmly at him, and directed him to one of the vacant chairs, just as Bodahn had bustled into the room carrying a tray that was laden with various cuts of cold meats. It was more food than Fenris had seen since escaping the Imperium, but also much less extravagant than anything the magisters would have serve. He had felt more than a little overwhelmed as he sat with the household, smiling awkwardly as Marian and Bodahn served him food, mumbling stilted thanks as Leandra had poured him wine. It was uncharted territory for him. For the most part, Fenris had sat in silence, simply observing and listening to the flowing chatter of the Hawke's and their servants. They seemed more like extended family, rather than employers and staff, and as the meal had drawn to an end, it was both Leandra and Bodahn that had all but shooed himself and Hawke out of the room and into the study.

So now Fenris sat side by side with Marian, on a plush woven rug in front of the study's large hearth. The sound of the incessant rain striking the window panes was occasional replaced by a happy shriek or playful bark coming from the great hall, as Sandal and Bryn chased each other. Hawke chuckled lightly every time she heard them, something that made Fenris' mouth twitch with the urge to smile. Spread out in front of them, were various pieces of parchment, each with copious amounts of mind-boggling symbols on them.

"This is the alphabet," Marian explained, pointing to the sheet closet to him. "Common alphabet, anyway. I figured it would be easiest to start with what you will see around Kirkwall."

"And this?" Fenris asked, nodded to the parchment next to the first.

"Common alphabet again," she smiled.

Fenris' brow furrowed as he squinted at the unfamiliar shapes, and as unknown as the symbols were to him, he could tell that the writing on each of the pages were completely different from the other. For a moment, he wondered if she was making fun of him, and tilted his head to glare at her from beneath his fringe. However, instead of finding Hawke laughing at him, Fenris watched as she picked up a blank piece of parchment, as well as the inkwell and quill that sat near by. Seemingly unaware of his thoughts, she smoothed out the sheet between them.

"This set are capital letters," Hawke instructed, pointing the grey goose feather at the first sheet of parchment. "These letters go at the beginning of a name, or the start of a sentence."

He watched in silence, as she started to write, his olive eyes following the smooth strokes as Hawke drew a short line from right to left, that then flowed down at a right angle. She lifted the quill, before drawing another line, from left to right, that bisected the second line she had created.

"This is an 'F'," she stated. "It can be pronounced as either ef or fu. But here, it's said as fu."

"Fu," he repeated, quietly.

Marian smiled at him encouragingly, a gesture that Fenris found himself returning tentatively. Once again, he silently observed as Hawke turned her attention back to the third parchment. The scratch of the quill joined the crackle of the fire and the splash of rain, as Fenris watched, mesmerised as she drew more symbols on the sheet. Five in total, to be exact. Then, Marian used the feather to gesture towards the second piece of parchment.

"These are lower case letters," she explained. "Exactly the same as the capitals, but used to make up the rest of a word. Like this."

As she spoke, Marian indicated to the symbols she had just drawn. Fenris took the third parchment in his hands, studying it carefully, before glancing back at the second sheet. Very vaguely, he could see some similarities between the two pages, but that was where his recognition stopped. To his surprise, Hawke shuffled closer to him, having return the quill to it's inkwell. As unexpected as it was, Fenris found that it was not unpleasant to have Marian so close to him, and he offered her a shy smile. The one she gave him in return, made his heart beat just a little bit faster.

"This letter is an 'E'," she continued. "It can be said as either ee or eh. Here, it's eh."

"Eh," Fenris repeated, dutifully.

Hawke smiled at him, before pointing to the next symbol. "This is 'N'. Pronounced as either en or nu. This time it's an en. And this one is 'R'. Which is either said as ar or ru. Here, it's ru."

Again, he parroted the sounds, before realisation suddenly dawned, and he turned to look at her sharply. "Is this my name?"

Fenris didn't think he had even seen Marian look so proud, but at that moment, she positively beamed at him, nodding encouragingly. He wasn't expecting the small surge of pride that her reaction caused him, and found himself returning her smile, more confidently than he had ever managed before.

"Exactly!" Hawke grinned. "Okay, this next letter is 'I', with is either said as aye or ih. And here it's said as..."

"Ih," he guessed.

Marian's smile widened. "Brilliant! The last one is 'S'."

"Which sounds like Ss?" Fenris asked.

Hawke nodded, her smile growing wider still. "It can also be pronounced as es."

Squinting at the symbols... letters... once again, Fenris tried to remember each sound. "Fu, eh, en, ru, ih, ss."

"Fenris," Marian repeated, before giving him an unexpected kiss on the cheek.

He could feel the blush beginning to heat his face already, and from the burn of them, Fenris suspected his ears would be almost glowing. A little awkwardly, he cleared his throat, glancing at Hawke from beneath his fringe.

"And how does your name look?"

 


	19. Best Laid Plans (Hawke PoV)

The plan had been to complete an easy gather and fetch task for Solivitus, out on the Wounded Coast. Hawke had originally thought that just her and Isabela could make the run, it was just to pick some Harlot's Blush Flowers after all. Just two friends enjoying the unseasonably nice weather, and possibly indulging in some salacious gossip. However, as soon a Varric had heard of their intended outing, he'd insisted on joining them, and Fenris had unexpectedly been waiting for them at the city gates. Varric had claimed fate and providence, though Marian suspected that the dwarf had actually sent a runner to get the warrior. Still, Hawke had thought it would be a quiet, easy task to complete. But of course, her plans had a way of turning awry.

"Hunters..." Fenris snarled beside her.

"Stop right there!" Someone on the cliff above them called. "You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave now, and you'll be spared."

She heard the slight catch of breath, and noticed the fleeting glance Fenris gave her. In that heart stopping moment, Hawke realised he was preparing himself to be betrayed. Pure, unadulterated rage bubbled up inside Marian, and she could feel the first licks of flame manifesting in her palms. Though hurt by the revelation, Hawke could not begrudge Fenris is wariness. By his own admission, before he got involved with the band of crazies she called friends, he'd never been able to rely on anyone. The knowledge that the men above them embodied the reason why her friend wasn't safe, the reason he couldn't bring himself to fully trust anyone, set Hawke's blood boiling. This would be no fight for carefully aimed shots and swift but deadly arrows. No... that bastard atop the cliff had just made it personal, and Marian was determined to see them burn for threatening her friend. Behind her, Hawke heard the telltale click of Varric sliding a bolt into Bianca, most likely poisoned at the tip, the type he favoured when dealing with slavers. At the same time, Isabela drew her twin blades, that were certainly coated with venom.

"Fenris is a free man," Hawke grit out.

"I won't repeat myself," the slaver bellowed. "Back away from the slave, now!"

Without hesitation, Marian stepped slightly in front of Fenris, making her stance on the subject very clear. However she kept a reasonable distance, respecting his distrust of magic, as she let the flames of her spell swell into fireballs. Varric took up position on their friend's right, hefting Bianca menacingly as he did. Isabela sidled up beside Hawke, unperturbed by the magic that was so clearly on display.

"Ugly needs his ears checked," the dwarf muttered.

Just as the pirate whispered: "You going for the mage?"

Marian simply nodded.

"I'm not your slave!" Fenris yelled.

With a sudden, intense flash, his lyrium markings began to glow a brilliant blue. It was a rare occurrence that Fenris unleashed all of his raw power, but Hawke was unsurprised that he was choosing to do so now. At the very moment he surged forward to meet the first attacker, Hawke sent the first, then second, powerful fireball at the enemy mage. In a cloud of smoke, Isabela disappeared from sight, and Marian was in no doubt that the rogue was already stalking the lead slaver. Varric let off several rapid volleys of arrows, whilst closing the distance between him and herself. Hawke quickly realised what her best friend was intending, and without hesitation, she moved to stand behind him. The pair had only practised this method of fighting a handful of times, but they'd quickly come to realise how affectively devastating the results of combining his arrows and her magic could be.

The fight passed in a blur after that. Isabela stalking the perimeter, Fenris charging headlong into the group of slavers, with Varric and Hawke working in tandem to cover his back. Before long, their attackers were nothing but a pile of bloody, smouldering bodies. All but one it seemed, for Fenris suddenly stalked to a lone body that had fallen further away from the group that the rest. It was the mage that Hawke thought she'd killed at the start of the fight, but obvious drag marks in the bloody sand revealed that although she had most likely mortally wounded him, the mage was currently still alive... for now. Probably not for long, given the way Fenris seized the back of his head.

"Where is he?" he demanded, his voice a viscous growl.

"Please... don't... kill me," the Tevinter mage gasped.

Hawke watched, only a little stunned, as Fenris mercilessly smashed the man's face into the ground, before yanking his head back once again. She'd fought beside the lyrium warrior many times, but Marian didn't think she'd ever seen Fenris so ruthless before. It was chilling to witness, and even Isabela looked surprised. An expression Hawke hadn't known the pirate capable of, until that moment.

"Tell me!" Fenris bellowed, making her jump.

"I don't know," the man whimpered. "I don't know, I swear. Hadriana brought us... she's at the holding caves, north of the city. I can show you the way."

There was a rigidness that came over Fenris at the mention of the woman's name.

"No need," he said, with finality. "I know which ones you speak of."

"Then let me go..." the man begged.

Despite the horror of seeing her friend be so utterly brutal, Hawke could have laughed. She knew that there was no chance she would have let a slaver go free. And if she wouldn't, Fenris would certainly show no mercy.

"You chose the wrong master," Fenris declared.

With a sickening crack, he snapped the man's neck, with disturbing ease. And regardless of everything she had seen or heard since she had fled the blight, the scene made Hawke's stomach lurch. Isabela flashed her a concerned glance, obviously also worried about their friend. Varric merely shook his head, seemingly in disbelief, before muttering:

"Well, shit..."

 


	20. Fear (Fenris PoV)

Unsurprisingly, as Fenris led his three companions along the desolate shores of the Wounded Coast, the storm clouds that had been threatening all day, finally closed in. Cold rain lashed them from all sides, as the howling wind whipped up the sodden sand and stung their faces. Fenris was so consumed by his hatred and single minded focus of revenge, that he barely paid any mind to the three walking with him during their hour long hike. Though he did notice that they were quieter than usual. Normally, the trio would be trading stories or witty rebukes, but they were almost silent. The sole time he had glanced behind... not to check they were still with him, not at all... had found Isabela and Varric crowding Hawke on each side. It had been obvious the two rogues were huddling close to the mage for warmth, because Marian was emitting the faint red glow she often did when trying to warm herself. And even with his rage rising, Fenris couldn't really begrudge her that. Though his feet had evidently been guided blindly by memory, as they arrived at the holding caves sooner than he expected. Peering into the dank, unwelcoming hollow that was the entrance to the caves, Fenris felt his blind rage recede. Only a little, and only to be replaced by a much darker feeling... fear. Danarius had delighted in regaling his guests with tales of the holding caves, whilst Fenris would be forced to listen obediently, desperately trying to conceal the shudder of horror that the stories invoked. Now, staring into the blackness of the void, he could feel the old, familiar chill creep up his spine. No matter how calm he appeared on the surface, or how much his anger would propel him to do, Fenris could admit to himself at least, that he was scared of what would greet them in the caves.

"Fenris?" Hawke called, softly.

Without him realising, the mage had come to stand beside him. He spared her a fleeting glance, and for one ludicrous moment, Fenris felt a little better. Thanks to the torrential rain, Hawke's red hair was plastered to her skull, some errant strands that had escaped her braid clung to her forehead and cheeks. Oddly, it almost suited her, and Fenris couldn't help but wonder if it was a trait of her Ferelden blood. Hawke's verdant eyes were trained on the cave's entrance, and her jaw was set rigid. It was the angriest Fenris had ever seen her look, and it surprised him.

"We must be careful," he instructed. "There were many such holdings, once. Especially in the mountains, where individual slavers kept private pens. They were designed to protect against raids by fellow slavers. No doubt it's why Hadriana chose this place."

"We'll find her, Fenris," Hawke promise. "That bitch won't escape us."

"Bianca's got you covered," Varric added, patting his crossbow as he came to join them.

"Let's hope this isn't a waste of time," Fenris muttered in reply.

Drawing in a ragged breath, he stepped over the threshold, snarling as his bare feet made contact with the dank stone. Every step they took further into the cave system put Fenris more on edge. A feeling that was only heightened with each skirmish they were forced to engage with. Slavers, the summoned undead, even the occasional blasted spider. All served to add to his growing feeling of uneasiness, as well as his rising anger. The odd times he spared a glance at Hawke, told him the mage wasn't faring much better. Though it was oddly reassuring to see how sickened she looked, when they had stumbled across a sacrificed elf. Hawke's already pale features had whitened considerably, even as she had moved to position the discarded corpse in a more dignified position. He had watched how her hands had shook the entire time, and was certain he had heard her mumble a prayer for the dead under her breath as she did so. He was shocked by her respect, and helped his anger addled mind remember she wasn't a magister, the next time a fireball flew passed him. After that, the quartet pressed on in grim silence. Fighting their way through the hordes of enemies which were growing denser with each tunnel they took, until they reached a large chamber. Within minutes, charred and bleeding corpses littered the floor, leaving one sole survivor left standing. A petite, blonde elven girl, done up in the way Fenris remembered Hadriana liked her slaves to look... gaudy and overdone, lest one be prettier than she. Without hesitation, he strode across the room to check on her.

"Are you hurt?" Fenris demanded. "Did they touch you?"

"They've been killing everyone!" she replied, seeming shell-shocked. "They cut papa, bled him..."

Unwittingly, Fenris' mind flashed back to the sacrificed elf they had found earlier in the cave system. Behind him, he heard Hawke give a slight gasp, obviously coming to the same conclusion.

"Shit..." Varric muttered, not quite under his breath.

"Why?" Fenris asked, struggling to keep his tone gentle. "Why would they do this?"

"Mistress said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her," the girl explained, dutifully.

Fenris bowed his head, guilt washing over him at the knowledge that he was the cause of her father's death.

"We tried to be good, we did everything we were told," the girl continued, as she began to pace fretfully. "She loved papa's soup... I don't understand."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Hawke said, her tone sad but gentle. Honest. "But we must know, is Hadriana still here?"

"I... think so," the girl replied, hesitantly. "Mistress said they were to 'prepare for battle'. I think she's very frightened."

"She has every reason to be," Fenris stated, unable to keep the anger from creeping back into his voice.

The girl's eyes widened with fear. "Please... please don't hurt her," she begged. "She'll be so angry if you hurt her."

Bile threatened to rise in Fenris' throat. He could remember, all to well, the desperate feeling of needing to please the master, lest dire punishment was dealt. It was a feeling that consumed you, a feeling that drove your every action, your every thought. It was sickening. He hid behind his fringe as Hawke moved passed him to comfort the young girl. He couldn't imagine the revulsion and pity she would feel, if she knew he had once been the same... perhaps still was the same, said a tiny voice in the back of his mind.

"Hush. Don't fret. We know this has been terrible for you," Hawke soothed. "Things will be alright."

"Everything was fine, until today," the girl stated, a waver entering her voice.

Fenris looked at her sadly. Once again, remembering all to well the delusion thoughts. "It wasn't. You just... didn't know any better."

"Are you my master now?" the girl asked suddenly.

Horrified, Fenris took a step backwards, almost colliding into Isabela. He only vaguely heard her whisper: "Easy tiger", over the roar of his own blood in his ears. Defensively, as if he could ward off the accusation, Fenris held his hands out in front of him.

"No!" he exclaimed.

"But... I can cook," the girl stated, seeming perplexed. "I can clean... what else will I do?"

Hawke sighed. A small, but weary sound. Fenris chanced giving the mage a fleeting glance, and saw her exchange a look with Varric. It often seemed like the two could read the other's mind, and no doubt, they had come to some silent conclusion or agreement between themselves. They often did, and it always left his head spinning.

"If you go to Kirkwall, I can help you," Hawke stated.

"Truly?" the girl beamed. "Oh... praise the Maker. Thank you."

"We've cleared the way, you should be safe if you hurry through," Varric smiled, encouragingly.

Surprisingly, Isabela stepped forward and handed the girl a small dagger still in it's sheath. "Here, take this. Just in case."

The girl looked terrified, but accepted the weapon obediently.

"If you would like, there's some bushes near the cave entrance. You could hide and wait for us there, if you don't want to to travel alone to Kirkwall," Marian added.

"Oh... oh! Yes, I will do that. I will wait for you," he girl gushed, before racing off.

Throughout the exchange, Fenris' mouth had been going dry. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. After everything over the past three years... everything that had happened today, he was only just beginning to see Hawke as something other than another dangerous mage, waiting to be corrupted. Now, all his worries and nightmares were being proven right. All mages were the same, even here. It sickened him. The feeling that swept over him felt distressingly like horror and disappointment. It was not a victory to know his distrust had been justified.

"I didn't realise you were in the market for a slave!" Fenris hissed, rounding on Hawke.

A spark of anger flashed through Marian's verdant eyes, and her jaw tightened. The hand that wasn't holding her bow, clenched in a fist by her side. However, instead of lashing out, as he knew mages would do, Hawke closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she fixed her gaze back upon him a moment later, the look she gave him was so soft and full of understanding, that Fenris could feel a flush of shame being to creep up his neck and ears.

"It's obvious she doesn't have the skills you do. You know she's an easy target," she replied, patiently. "I'm going to give her a job, pay her. And if or when she decides to move on, I will make sure it's to somewhere that will treat her right."

Fenris blinked at her, his ears starting to burn. "Ah... then... that's good," he stammered, awkwardly. "My apologies. Let's find Hadriana, and be done with this place."

Hurriedly, he turned away, towards the sole remaining door. The one that surely led to the blighted magister. However, Fenris didn't move quick enough to avoid seeing the sad, half smile Hawke gave him, or the worried look in her eyes. He also didn't fail to notice the questioning look Varric gave her, or the fact that Isabela lay a hand on her shoulder, almost like she was comforting the mage. It added shame to the already whirling torrent of emotions that were shifting through him, and left Fenris feeling quite disorientated.

 


	21. Black Heart (Hawke PoV)

Hawke barely contained her snort of laughter at the snivelling bitch's words. She was pretty damn sure Fenris _did_ if fact want her dead, and despite being opposed to violence as a general rule, Marian couldn't fault him on that point. Meeting the young elven survivor had left her shaken, as had the trail of carnage they'd discovered. She couldn't begin to image what sort of memories had been dragged up for her friend, and in truth, Hawke was worried for him. And thanks to Hadriana's fighting tactics, she was also coming to appreciate why Fenris had such a poor view of mages. To be honest, if she hadn't experienced the sane side of magic first hand, Hawke had to concede she would likely have a very similar view point. Which was a disturbing thought, given her bloodline.

"There is only one person I want dead more," Fenris grit out.

His voice was dark and menacing, and he raised his great sword above his head, intending to strike. This side of him that they were witnessing was more than a little chilling to see. On more than one occasion, Varric had thrown Hawke a worried glance before nodding in the warrior's direction, and even Isabela was beginning to look concerned. Both were evidently feeling the same uneasiness that she was experiencing, something that had only increased since Fenris' stinging outburst back when they found the young elven girl. It had taken a lot for Hawke to reign in her own anger at the time, but logically she knew he was just lashing out. The battlefield was not the place to sort out a person dispute, Aveline's lessons on tactics had at least taught her that much.

"I have information, elf," Hadriana stuttered, from her prone position on the dirty, blood soaked floor. "And I will trade it in return for my life."

Fenris scoffed. "The location of Danarius? What good will that do me? I would rather he lose his pet pupil."

"You have a sister, she is alive," Hadriana suddenly revealed.

If it had been one of Varric's books, and not real life, Hawke could have laughed at the magister's dramatics. It was like something out of a bad fairy tale that Bethany had loved to read. However, at the revelation, Fenris seemed to visible pause. His posture became rigid, despite still holding his sword aloft. Hawke couldn't see his face due to her position, but she could only image the look of shock that would be written over his features. Instinctively, she took a small step towards her friend, having done her best to keep a fair distance between him and her magic throughout the fighting. Fenris must have heard her footsteps, for he turned slightly towards her, his vibrant olive eyes blown wide. At that exact moment, Hadriana looked intent on making a grab for her discarded staff. Without thinking, Hawke sent a Force Push in the magisters direction, knocking her back to the filthy floor. As Isabela took the opportunity to make a quick grab for the staff, promptly disposing of it in the lava that bubbled along the side of the chamber they were in. Idly, Hawke hoped Fenris wouldn't be too angry with her use of offensive magic so close to him.

"You wish to reclaim you life," Hadriana wheezed, obviously winded by Hawke's spell. "Let me go, and I will tell you where she is."

Once again, Fenris glanced in Hawke's direction, as he sheathed his great sword. Her heart went out to him. He looked so... lost. Confused. It prompted her close the distance and stand by his side. Varric must have felt the same empathy, for the dwarf also joined them standing over Hadriana, who had scrambled to her knees. Isabela stood several paces away, idly flipping one of her daggers, just inside the magister's field of vision.

"You tell us where his sister is first, then we will let you go," the pirate proclaimed.

Hadriana turned to glare at Isabela. "Ha! You think me the fool?"

"You chose to pick a fight with the guy who can rip your heart right out of your chest. If the boot fits..." Varric drawled.

Fighting back the urge to smirk at her best friend's words, Hawke cautiously lay a hand on Fenris' shoulder. "This is your call."

He gave an almost imperceivable nod, before striding forward. To anyone who didn't know Fenris, the real Fenris, they would probably consider him calm and fully in control. But Hawke could see the tension in him from the set of his shoulders, and the way his gauntleted hands curled and uncurled into fists with each step he took. Hawke's stomach began to coil in apprehension, for even though Fenris had not reached for his sword, and it was fairly obvious Hadriana's mana was too drained to unleash another spell, Marian couldn't shake the the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. She caught Varric's eye, and her best friend gave a slight nod, before patting Bianca's stock. He obviously felt it too.

"So... I have your word? I tell you, and you let me go?" Hadriana snivelled.

Fenris bent down, bringing his face inches from the magister's. "Yes..."

There was an icy edge to his voice, one that could have cut steel. Without giving it a conscious thought, Hawke took a wary step back, subconsciously reaching to notch an arrow.

"Her name is Varania," Hadriana explained. "She's in Qarinus, serving a magister by the name of Ahriman."

"A servant... not a slave?" Fenris questioned.

"She's not a slave," Hadriana promised.

"I believe you," the warrior replied.

Then without warning, Fenris' markings suddenly flared to life, their glow bathing the previously red hued chamber in an eerie blue light. Realising what was about to happen, Hawke looked away, but not before she caught the sight of the warrior's hand reaching into the magister's chest. Hadriana gasped in evident pain, which was followed by a sickening squelching sound that threatened to make Marian's stomach lurch.

"Well... shit," Varric muttered, looking as queasy as she felt.

 


	22. Overload (Fenris PoV)

Disgust filled him. Disgust at his past, at the anger, at Hadriana, but most of all at himself. Fighting the urge to shudder, Fenris turned from the lifeless blood soaked body and shouldered passed Hawke. He resolutely avoided her verdant gaze, but Marian's gentle grip on his upper arm was impossible to ignore. Fenris tensed, waiting for the berating or admonishment at his loss of control, he deserved. But as she stepped in front of him, the empathy he saw in her eyes almost broke his resolve.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, gently.

As it so often was, Hawke's kindness was too much to bare. Even after three years of her acquaintanceship.. of her friendship, Fenris was not accustom to the mage's compassion. Further more, he didn't think he deserved it. After all, he'd just shown her how far his anger and hatred had twisted him, and yet Hawke was still offering him her warmth. It broke something inside of him.

“No! I don't want to talk about it,” he snapped. “This could be a trap. Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this... _sister_. Even if he didn't, trying to find her would still be suicide. Danarius has to know about her, and knows that Hadriana knew.” Fenris shook his head, trying to clear it. “But all that matters is I finally got to crush that bitch's heart. May she rot, and all the other mages with her.”

Fenris regretted those words as soon as they left his mouth, as he witnessed the fleeting look of hurt and almost betrayal that flashed in Hawke's eyes. Not wanting to see any more of her emotions, he turned from her. At the same time, he heard Isabela suck in a surprised breath and out the corner of his eye, he caught Varric glaring at him. In truth, Fenris was almost expecting a crossbow bolt to sink between his shoulder blades... the dwarf was _that_ protective of Hawke, and visa versa. But no attack came. What happened was so much worse.

“Maybe we should leave,” Hawke said, kindly.

As she lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, Fenris struggled to swallow passed the lump forming in his throat. He didn't deserve her kindness nor her friendship. He couldn't understand how Hawke remained so calm during his tirades, how she remained so patient when he lashed out. Mage or no, Fenris had to admit she was a far better person than he was... unless it was an elaborate lie. She was a mage after all... really, he didn't know what to believe anymore. The longer he associated with Hawke, the harder it was to think of all mages in the same light that he once had.

“Don't comfort me,” Fenris all but growled.

He shrugged off her had, and was intent on simply walking away. But against his better judgement, Fenris found himself turning to face Hawke. He couldn't help himself, as the anger and confusion bubbled and roiled inside him... he found he needed to prod and push. He needed to provoke her, to get her to lash out, to retaliate. He _needed_ his old views to be proven right... for his own sanity.

“You saw what was done here. There will always be some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this,” Fenris continued. “Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her. What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris noticed that Varric's fingers were twitching nearer to his crossbow's trigger, the look in the dwarf's eyes getting dangerously close to menacing. However, it was Hawke's eyes that caused him the most trouble, for he could almost swear tears were forming in the corner of her eyes. But he had to be mistaken, his words could not be affecting her so. However, when Hawke next spoke, there was a quietness to her voice that belied her emotions, and cut Fenris to the quick.

“You,” she said, simply.

Too stunned to fully comprehend what Hawke had just, or what she truly meant, Fenris turned from her. He shook his head, causing his shock of white hair to obscure his face, and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was all too much. He had to get out of there... he had to run... escape.

“I... need to go,” Fenris stated, haltingly.

Without another word or a backward glance, he fled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! All up to date to where it was left off over on FF.net. All coming chapters will be completely new material, I hope you enjoy.


	23. Reach Out (Hawke PoV)

Hawke rested her head against the stout wood of her bedroom door, a weary sigh escaping her. It had been a long hike back from the Wounded Coast, and the only thing that had stopped Marian from fretting about Fenris, was reassuring the elven girl they'd rescued. Poor Oriana was a jittery nervous wreck the entire trip, which only marginally improved once they got to the Hawke estate. Thankfully, her mother had been home; and between them, they'd managed to get the elf situated in one of the spare room... though that could have been the sleeping draught Bodahn, of all people, had slipped into Oriana's tea. Marian had spoke with her mother and the dwarf for some time, trying to figure out how best to the nervous elf, but no plan had been forthcoming. By the time it had reached midnight, they all decided it was best to leave any further talks until tomorrow, and she'd bade them all a good night. She'd barely made it to her room, before there was a knock at the front door. Luckily, Hawke hadn't changed out of her house clothes yet, so after rolling her neck to work out the kinks, she hurried down the stone staircase. She waved Bodahn back to bed, when he emerged from the room he shared with Sandal, knowing it could only be someone calling for her. Probably Varric with a bottle of whiskey to share, or Isabel wanting to drag her to the Rose... Hawke had seen their worried looks after Fenris had stormed off. What she hadn't been expecting, was the man in question sat hunch on the foyer's wooden bench. Marian discretely gave him a once over, relieved he wasn't injured, or at least there were no visible wounds. He was wearing a black cotton tunic over his usual leggings, so it didn't rule out fighting, just that'd he'd cleaned up before he'd sought her out.

“I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana,” he said, moving to stand. “I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was... not myself. I'm sorry.”

“I had no idea where you went. I was worried,” Hawke stated.

“I... needed to be alone,” Fenris replied, hesitantly.

“Do you still need to be?” she asked.

He considered her for a moment, before answering: “No.”

Smiling gently in understanding, Hawke held the door open for him in obvious invitation. Fenris hesitated for a moment, before offering her the barest hint of a smile in return. Once he was inside, she bolted the door and led him to the dining room. Marian had long since accepted she'd inherited her mother's need to feed people, but she held the urge in check. Despite Fenris turning up on her doorstep, she could still see the tension in the set of his shoulders, and the way he subconsciously flexed his bare fingers; obviously missing his gauntlets. He was feeling anxious but trying to hide it, perhaps even overwhelmed, and though Hawke didn't exactly approve, she knew his preferred coping mechanism. There may not be able fancy wine in the house, but Marian did have some excellent Antivan brandy, which she poured for them generously; her smile widening when she realised Fenris had gone to sit in one of the fireside armchairs, without being asked. It was a relief to see he was at ease enough around her to make himself comfortable in her home... she'd been trying to get him to for over three years, after all. He gave her another faint smile, when she handed him his drink.

“When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment,” he explained, quietly. “She would ridicule me, deny me food, hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond and she knew it. The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now... I couldn't let her go. I wanted to, but couldn't.”

Hawke gave a thoughtful hum. “You gave her your word though?”

“It's not easy to discover your principles are less noble than you believe.” Fenris stated, avoiding her gaze.

She couldn't help raising an eyebrow. “So you didn't just want to kill her?”

“What would you have me do? Hadriana came after me! I've never had the option to simply walk away,” he snapped, glaring at her.

“Exactly,” Hawke agreed, calmly. “Even if she didn't deserve to die, which she did, you were more or less defending yourself. As you say, she came after you, if you let her go, she'd most likely have tried again. Killing one of your captors doesn't make you a bad person.”

Fenris blinked at her, obviously surprised. He took a long drink of whiskey, presumably mulling over her words, as he stared into the hearth's flames. Hawke's fingers twitched to reach out for him, he looked so lost, so conflicted. But their relationship... not that anyone could really call it that... was so convoluted, Marian wasn't sure if her touch would be welcome or not. So she made do with sipping on her own brandy, and biding her time, smiling kindly when he finally turned to look at her again.

“I am sorry,” Fenris sighed. “This hate... I thought I'd gotten away from it. But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me... it was too much to bear. But I didn't come here to burden you further.”

He downed his drink then set the empty glass on the floor, before pushing up from the plush armchair. Fenris gave her a look that was both sad and imploring, as if he didn't want to leave, but felt he had to. He looked so sad in that moment, that her heart overrode common sense. Without thinking, Marian followed his lead, before reaching out to catch his wrist.

“You're not a burden, Fenris,” Hawke stated. “And you don't need to leave.”

 


	24. Yield (Fenris PoV)

Her touch startled him. On instinct, his markings flared to life, and before Fenris knew it, he'd backed Hawke up against the wall. His palm met the plastered surface so hard, it rattled an unlit candle on the nearby mantle, though Marian didn't even jump. Even in his agitated state, Fenris couldn't believe she was not alarmed to have his glowing hand so close to her head. His eyes searched her beautiful face, as his brain desperately scrambled for some sort of apology, but all he could think was how beautiful Hawke looked, with the firelight dancing across her features, and setting her hair alight like a ruby.

“Are you alright?” she asked, quietly.

The gentle words almost startled a laugh out of him, but instead, Fenris shook his head. He'd pushed her up against a wall, powers that could kill even a skilled mage such as Hawke flaring, and all she could think to ask was about his welfare... Marian Hawke as a puzzling enigma that shattered every preconception Fenris had ever had about mages, maybe even just people in general. She was in a class of her own. He couldn't understand why such a remarkable woman put up with him; not just offering her friendship, but often hinting at something more. It would be a lie to say Fenris wasn't nervous, perhaps even scared... letting anyone so close, let alone a mage, was asking to be betrayed. To be used. To be laughed at, then discarded. But Hawke was different, he knew that, and what was more, he couldn't get the vivacious redhead off his mind. Right there and then, staring into her verdant eyes, Fenris realised he wanted more than their easy conversations and fleeting touches. He wanted Marian Hawke, anyway she would have him.

“I think of you,” he admitted. “In fact, I've been able to think of little else.”

“Fenris...?”

Unable to hold her gaze any longer, he glanced away. “Command me to go, and I shall.”

She huffed a quiet breath of laughter, which caused Fenris to peek at Hawke through his fridge. A soft smile pulled at her lips, as she reached to gently tuck his hair behind his tapered ear. His heart hammered in his chest, as he watched her tongue dart out to wet her glorious red lips. His fingers twitched to reach for her, desperate to cup her face, to rest on her hips, to pull her closer to him. But Fenris held the urge in check; no matter how much he wanted her, he wouldn't act unless Hawke expressly told him.

“Do you really think I'd send you away?” she asked, smiling.

As Marian's hand ever-so-gently cupped his face, Fenris swallowed audibly, before taking an unconscious step forward. Unable to help himself, he crowded into her personal space, daring to stroke her unbelievably soft hair; taking her own gentle caresses as permission. He was so out of his depth, it wasn't even funny. His hands trembled, and Fenris knew she could feel his nervousness, but he didn't fear ridicule as he would have once. This was Hawke, and he trusted her. Even as her hand slipped to cradle the back of his neck. He knew she wouldn't grasp and tug painfully, and was rewarded for his trust as she pleasantly scratch the base of his skull with her blunt nails.

“I'm yours, Fenris... have been for quite a while.”

Without thinking, he crashed his lips to hers. It wasn't skilful, it wasn't perfect; it wasn't even tender and loving like he'd secretly hoped it would be. Fenris pressed his lips to Hawke's harder than he probably should have, his hands clamped on her biceps far tighter than was needed, as he pulled her towards him too roughly. He hadn't a clue what he was doing, and he knew his actions showed it. He had no knowledge of how it _should_ go, had no experience passed the point of being used; but Fenris knew he was doing it wrong, and knew that Hawke deserved better. He was about to pull away, frantically thinking of an apology to blurt out, before he felt himself leaning forward.

It took Fenris a moment to realise that Marian had leant back onto the wall, and that the hand at the nape of his neck, had gently pulled him with her. He felt her other hand curl around his hip, her thumb drawing lazy yet soothing circles on the joint. She tilted her head slightly, her lips softening beneath his, and Fenris tried to mimic her actions. Their kiss turned sweeter, gentler, and he released his vice like grip on her arms. Unsure what to do, he cautiously settled his arms around her slender waist, and breathed in the musk of her perfume. It reminded him of warm fires and rich red wine, it was comforting, grounding. She smelt like home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt the kiss scene seemed a little rough, considering what can be assumed of Fenris' life as a slave. So I wanted to make it a little softer & sweeter.


	25. Precipice (Hawke PoV)

After their kiss, Hawke had linked her hand with Fenris' and gently led him to her room. She might not have an elf's keen hearing, but she could tell when he began to get nervous, his breathing speeding up. She squeezed his fingers lightly as they entered her room, only letting go to be able to firmly shut the door behind them... Bryn bounding in unexpected would certainly ruin the mood. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, giving Fenris' olive skin a bronzed glow. His face was hidden in shadows by his hair, but by the set of his shoulders, Hawke could tell he was getting tense. She was certain that after all this time, it wasn't _her_ making him uneasy, and though he'd never outright stated what had happened to him, she could imagine what Fenris might have endured as a slave. So instead of leading him to the bed like she wanted to, Hawke simply wrapped her arms around his slender waist from behind. He wasn't much taller than her, so she easily managed to plant a gentle kiss just behind his tapered ear.

“We could just cuddle,” she offered, smiling.

Fenris let out a shuddering breath. “I meant what I said Hawke. You occupy my thoughts, and not all of them are... pure.” He gave a nervous cough. “I just don't know... I've never really...” He gave a disgruntled sigh of frustration.

She placed another kiss on his neck. “Do you trust me?”

He quickly turned to face her; his eyes blown wide in surprise, even as he grabbed her hands tightly. She hadn't expected such a reaction to her question... Fenris looked almost terrified.

“Hawke, I'm sorry that I've ever made you doubt...”

Shaking her head, she smiled at him gently. “Fenris, it's okay. I just wanted to make sure you knew I'd never do anything to hurt you, or even make you uncomfortable.” She rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. “I just want to make you feel good, if you'll let me.”

Fenris stared at her dumbly for moment, obviously shocked, before nodding hesitantly.

“You know, consent is sexy,” Hawke stated, raising an eyebrow. “I'm not going to do anything unless you _tell_ me you want it. I love you, Fenris, I hope you know that. And I want you. But I'm not going to do anything unless you are comfortable with it.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment, until his lips crashed into hers. It felt a little desperate, but Hawke still wrapped her arms around his neck, humming contentedly when Fenris stepped closer to her. To her pleasant surprise, it was him that chose to deepen their kiss. His tongue cautiously asking for entrance, that she willingly gave. His exploration was tentative, his hands trembling where they held onto her hips. Fenris pulled back after a mere handful of heartbeats, his breath shaky as it skittered across her face; but he rested his forehead against hers, instead of fully retreating.

“I do want you, Marian,” he said, softly. “It's just... I have never... chosen... to be with anyone.”

She smiled, a little sadly, nodding in understanding. She knew what Fenris was implying. She understood why he was hesitant, nervous. Hawke cupped his face, stroking his cheekbone lovingly.

“I want to make you feel good, Fenris,” she said, gently. “Will you let me show you how it _should_ be?”

Fenris let out another shaky breath, but looked directly into her eyes as he whispered: “Yes.”

 


	26. Trust (Fenris PoV)

Fenris' heart hammered in his chest as she began to undo the laces of his shirt, before slowly pulling it over his head. He tensed, itching to cross his arms over his chest, desperate to minimise what was on show. He let out a shaky breath, trying to remind himself that this was Hawke... Marian, she wouldn't be like _them_. But still worry and doubt began to coil in his gut. She wasn't touching him, wasn't saying anything. Fenris swallowed audibly. He knew how repulsive he looked, knew how the wicked lyrium cruelly marked his skin. Knew how disgusting he was, and should just be thankful for whatever he was given, because no one would ever want him; a disfigured, used slave... but no. _This_ was Hawke, Marian. She wasn't like them. Fenris risked glancing at her beautiful face, and almost forgot how to breath. She wasn't looking at him in disgust, she wasn't not touching him because she was repulsed. Her fingers hovered a hair's breath from his skin, as if she'd reached out to touch but stopped herself. Her emerald eyes roved over his torso, but her gaze wasn't hungry, it was... awed.

“You're stunning,” Hawke whispered, licking her lips. “But I don't want to hurt you.”

A huff of relieved laughed escaped Fenris, and nervously, he took hold of Marian's hand in his; thankful she didn't comment about how he trembled. Carefully, he pressed her palm across his heart, knowing she would feel the erratic beat. No matter what she'd do, the marks _would_ hurt him, but Fenris trusted Hawke enough to still try. He even trusted the magic that sung in her veins. He knew if it got too much, he _could_ tell her to stop and she would... Fenris wasn't entirely sure, but he suspected he loved her, though was still too scared to admit it out loud.

“Just... be gentle,” he murmured back.

“Is there anything you know you like?” she asked, quietly.

“Kissing you,” Fenris answered, without thinking.

The smile that he was rewarded with was so soft and loving, it nearly stole his breath away. The kiss that followed, did. Marian's berry red lips were warm and inviting. Her tongue licked the seam of his mouth, light and teasing, and he gladly gave her entrance. Nerves made his heart beat furiously, but Fenris still hummed in approval, when he tasted Antivan Brandy on her tongue. The musk of her perfume made his head swim pleasantly, and the plush velvet of her black dress coat, was a surprisingly welcome sensation against his sensitive skin. Still, he wanted to feel Marian against him, not her clothing. So after a few moments of nervous deliberation, his began to try to undo the vivid red sash she wore as a belt, though his hands trembled too much to even loosen the knot.

“Fasta Vass!” he cursed, having pulled away from Marian's lips.

Hawke chuckled, quietly. Prompting a blush to suddenly rush to Fenris' cheeks and ears, he could feel them burning, even as he risked glancing at Marian. He felt ashamed and foolish, pathetic for not even being able to get something so simple right. But instead of a cruel smirk, he found her smiling at him gently. She placed a fleeting kiss to his unresisting lips, followed by an unexpected one to the tip of his nose. Fenris huffed out a laugh at the gesture, feeling some of his tension drain away, even as Hawke made quick work of her sash. She tugged on the lapels of her dress coat, raising a questioning eyebrow, to which Fenris nervously nodded his head. He swallowed thickly, as she shrugged out of it, smirking slightly when she tossed it haphazardly onto a nearby armchair. Though his smile faltered when Hawke's fingers brushed the collar of her white shirt.

“This as well?” she asked, gently.

There was no teasing lilt to her words, which Fenris was eternally grateful for. He'd heard how Hawke flirted with both Isabella and Varric, and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it... and had always been thankful that their own flirting had always been subtle, a suggestion rather than anything overt. Not that it helped him all that much right now.

“Can... I...”

Fenris trailed off, unsure how to actual voice his desire. But of course, Hawke... his wonderful, beautiful Hawke... knew what he wanted. She smiled at him softly, before guiding his hands to her top button, the distracting one that sat _just_ above her cleavage. His fingertips savoured the feel of the luxurious silk of her shirt, before slowly unfastening the first pearl closure. Fenris cursed under his breath as his hands shook, making the stubborn buttons even more awkward to undo. But Marian just continued to smile at him, patiently waiting, rubbing soothing circles with her thumbs across his still clothes hips. It wasn't pleasant and relaxing, and let Fenris build up enough courage to steal a fleeting kiss, before finally divesting her of the shirt. It was throw on top of her coat, where it was promptly forgotten, in favour of _finally_ feeling her skin.

His breath stuttered at the amazing feel of her beneath his palms, and Fenris lightly ran his calloused hands over her sides, across her toned back, and up her flat stomach. Cautiously, he dared to run his fingertips along the edge of her breast-band. He nervously licked his lips, wondering how to ask for what he wanted, until Marian planted a lingering kiss to the underside of his jaw. Without warning, she licked a trail up the outer shell of his tapered ear, before whispering:

“Remove whatever you want.”

Her lips were back on his, soft and pliant, intoxicating as she kissed him slowly... thoroughly. Fenris felt pleasantly dizzy when she eventually pulled back, and fought the urge to chase her lips. Hawke's warm hands gently cupped his face, her thumbs lightly stroking his cheekbones, as she smiled at him lovingly.

“I trust you, Fenris,” she told him. “I want to make you feel good, but I only want to go as far as you're comfortable with.”

Without thinking, Fenris crashed his lips to hers, his confidence bolstered by Marian's understanding. His trembling fingers made surprisingly short work of her breast-band, letting the cotton fabric drop to the floor, as he backed Hawke up towards her bed. They landed in a tangle of graceless limbs, Marian giggling softly... which was the exact moment Fenris' mind caught up with up. He swallowed thickly, glancing at her nervously through his fringe. He had no real idea what he was doing, but he was certain she shouldn't be laughing. His cheeks and ears _burned_ with embarrassment, and he was just about to stutter some sort of apology, when Marian leant up to kiss him softly.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I needed that. I was starting to get nervous.”

He blinked at her in confusion... Hawke didn't get nervous.

“I've wanted to be with you for so long,” she continued, gently running her fingers through his hair. “The moment I saw you, I thought you were the most stunning man I'd ever seen. Then I got to know you, and I discovered what an amazing person you are.” She paused to cup his face. “I love you, Fenris. And no matter what does or doesn't happen tonight, I'm glad you're here with me.”

Fenris knew he wasn't great with words at the best of times, now with an unexpected lump in his throat, he knew he didn't stand a chance. He'd never imagined that anyone would ever care for him, never mind someone like Hawke. Marian was... _everything_ Fenris had ever secretly dreamed of in a partner, but he knew he didn't deserve her. Yet by some miracle, his beautiful Hawke was lying beneath him, looking up at him lovingly. Fenris knew he'd never find the words to tell Marian what she meant to him, but he hoped her could somehow show her.

His lips found her berry red smile, and took the time to savour them, before managing to roll them. Marian now lay across his chest, their still clothed legs entwined, their naked torsos pressed flush together. Her satin soft skin was warm against his, but didn't seem to hurt his sensitive body. The markings thrummed at the close proximity to Hawke's mana, but it was a tantalising tingle, something Fenris had never felt before. Her glorious red hair fell like a silk curtain around his face, when she propped herself up to look at him. Marian's customary smirk was pulling at the corner of her kiss swollen mouth, but the look in her verdant eyes remained soft and loving. he cautiously ran his fingers up the length of her spine, revelling in the way she arched her back and shivered slightly.

Fenris knew he'd never be eloquent enough to tell Hawke how he felt, but he knew he could prove he felt the same. He only hesitated for a moment, before shyly whispering:

“Show me...?”

He was incredibly thankful that Marian didn't try and play coy, his pitiful words actually prompting her to smile at him warmly. She kissed him gently, before shimmying down his legs. Unable to help himself, Fenris propped himself up on his elbows, giving her a questioning look.

“I have an idea that I think you'll like.” Hawke's fingers ghosted along his waistband. “Can I take these off?”

Swallowing nervously, Fenris nodded. “I trust you, Marian.”

The smile he was rewarded with was dazzling, before Hawke made quick work with the laces, and soon his leggings joined her breast-band on the floor. Fenris tensed once he was bare to, realising Marian could now see the full extent of the grotesque markings, how they covered _all_ of him. She could fully see how truly disfigured he was. He shut his eyes, trying to prepare himself for when Hawke inevitably changed her mind... because why would she want someone as disgusting as him.... until he let huffed out a surprised breath, as her fingertips lightly ran up his length. Fenris opened his eyes to find Marian regarding him with such open affection, he nearly looked away again.

“You're gorgeous,” she whispered, her thumb slowly swirling around him. “I promise to be gentle.”

Without further explanation, Hawke leant down; tucking her hair behind her ear as she did. The only warning Fenris got, was the fleeting kiss she placed on his tip, before he was surrounded by the warm, wet heat of her mouth. His head fell back to the pillows, an obscene groaning ripped out of him; that Fenris would be embarrassed by, if he could form a coherent thought. As it was, all he could focus on was the amazing feeling of her tongue circling his tip, before her plush lips closed around him once again. As she slid down, Fenris couldn't help another low groan that escaped him, gasping at the sudden friction as Marian lightly sucked as she pulled back up. As she slid back down, her right hand curled around the rest of him, moving in time to the lazy rhythm she'd set. Before long, the velvet roughness of her tongue added to the maddening friction, her left hand lightly caressing his legs and stomach, whilst her right kept pace with her clever mouth.

All too soon, but sooner than expected, Fenris was on the edge. One hand tangled in the bed sheets, whilst the other gripped Marian's wandering hand like a life line. He needed an anchor, but didn't want to risk hurting her, by grabbing her hair. He meant to warn her, to give her time to pull away... but all it took was Hawke giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, _just_ as she gave him a particularly artful suck, and Fenris was lost.

He wasn't sure how long it was, until he was blinking back to reality, but Fenris slowly opened his eyes, only to be greeted by the sinful sight of Marian licking her swollen lips. He swallowed audibly, his chest heaving, as he tried to think of something to say... should he apologise for finishing in her mouth? Should he thank her for something so amazing? Fenris didn't have a clue what _should_ happen right now, what he should be doing or saying, he had no experience of it. But of course, Hawke had the answer without even knowing he had a question.

“Would you like to cuddle?” she asked, sweetly.

Fenris nodded dumbly, not quite trusting himself to speak. But still admired the way Marian looked, as she shimmied out of her black trews. He was half disappointed-half relieved when she left her small clothes on, as she returned to the bed; after taking a discrete sip of water from a glass that stood on her bedside table. She kissed him lightly, just a fleeting press of her lips to his, before she pulled the golden eiderdown up over them. The only light in the room was from the flickering fire, that cast a warm glow. Without hesitation, Fenris gathered Marian in his arms, not fighting the smile that pulled at his lips, when she carefully settled her head on his shoulder. She was always so gentle with him, so mindful of the marks that caused him such pain. It was one of the many reason why he cherished _his_ vivacious mage. He gave a contented sigh, as Marian's arms slipped across his torso, and he couldn't resist pulling her impossibly closer. For the first time Fenris could remember, he felt safe, relaxed... content. His eyes slipped closed, as he listened to the sounded of Hawke's quiet breaths.

 


	27. Consequences (Hawke PoV)

Hawke blinked awake, feeling momentarily disoriented. The space beside her was empty but still warm, she frowned. She hadn't intended to doze off, though she was certain Fenris had fallen asleep before her. Not that Marian minded, even if she had a _lot_ more ideas of what she'd like to do with the warrior, she was honestly happy to have shown him how things should be. She was certain he'd enjoyed himself. So when she heard shuffling behind her, Hawke hadn't expected to glance over her shoulder and see Fenris getting dressed. Sitting up, she quirked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh when he cursed quietly, failing to tie his leg wrap properly. Marian hadn't pictured Fenris to be a love 'em and leave 'em type, and the worry and guilt that was etched on his face; illuminated by the still burning fire, told her there was more to his fleeing than was obvious. Still, Hawke knew she 'should' be angry, so she couldn't help teasing him a littler.

“Was it that bad?”

Fenris visibly startled, and stared up at her with big, puppy dog eyes. “I'm sorry, it's not... it was fine.” He shut his eyes, shaking his head. “No. That is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed.”

Marian gave him a small, sad smile. “Was it your markings? Did I hurt you?”

Somehow, Fenris managed to look more like a kicked puppy. “It's not that,” he assured in a rush. “I began to remembered. My life before. Just flashes... It's too much. This is too fast. I cannot... do this.”

As he began to pass as he spoke, Hawke tried not to stare at the striking sight of Fenris' bare torso. There was evident anguish in Fenris' voice, that made her heart heavy. She bit back a sigh, swinging her bare legs out of bed, non-plused when the eiderdown pooled in her lap. Consider what they done together, just a hour or two before, Hawke found it amusing how Fenris blushed when he looked her way. Trying not to smile, she pointed towards her discarded shirt, easily catching it one handed, when the tossed it her way. Quickly as she could, Marian covered her torso; glad she'd at least left her small clothes on, before she joined Fenris at the hearth.

“You're life before? What do you mean?” she queried.

“I've never remembered anything from before the ritual. But there were... faces. Words. For just a moment, I could recall all of it. And then it slipped away.”

Without thinking, Hawke lay a hand on Fenris' bare shoulder, only to jerk it back suddenly when he flinched. She swallowed thickly, blinking back unexpected tears at the sight in front of her... Fenris looked as upset as she felt.

“Don't you want your memories back?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Perhaps you don't realise how upsetting this is,” he replied, without any real heat.

“No, I don't,” Hawke admitted. “I can only image what you're going through, Fenris. And I'm sorry I don't know how to help.”

Fenris' eyes shone with unshed tears. “I've never remembered anything, and to have it all come back in a rush, only to lose it... I can't. I _can't_.”

“We can work through this,” she offered.

Marian heard exactly what Fenris was saying; he couldn't deal with the memories, he couldn't deal with them together. They'd moved too far, too fast... she could have kicked herself. What was three years to a man who only remembered slavery? Hawke silently cursed herself for being so stupid. She should have been more careful with Fenris' feelings, should have left their dalliance as heated kisses; which had already been a step farther than they'd gone before. She should have realised it was probably left over adrenaline that drove him to her room, rather than a well thought out decision. Sure, he'd told her he could think of little else but her, but that didn't mean he'd come expecting things to accelerate so quickly. Though that wasn't why Hawke offered her help. Of course, now that she had a taste of him, she didn't want to let Fenris go. But it wasn't a lover she was worried about losing, it was a friend. A friend who was very obviously in need of support and care, especially when he was giving her such a wounded, guilty, soulful look.

“I'm sorry,” Fenris murmured. “I feel like such a fool. All I wanted was to be happy... just for a little while. Forgive me.”

Hawke swallowed thickly, as she watched him look for his shirt, yet it was her who reached for the crumpled article, silently offering Fenris the creased bundle. Marian desperately wanted to hug him, to tell him everything would be alright; she nearly offered too, until she remembered how Fenris flinched under her touch. Instead, she rapidly blinked back tears, determined not to cry. She knew he needed her to be strong right now, so she mustered up a brave smile for him. It didn't reach her eyes, she was too worried and upset for it to be real, but it was the best she could do. He reached for her then, but stopped himself; his hand hovering in the space between them, before he let it fall limply to his side.

“I am sorry, Marian,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “Don't be. It's alright.”

To her great surprise, Fenris tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, his gaze so open and vulnerable. She could clearly see the hurt and regret in his olive eyes, and she tried to make her smile more realistic, knowing it fell short. Without another word, Fenris all but fled her room, and presumably her house. A heart beat later, Hawke let out a shaky breath, wiping the traitorous tears from her cheeks. Without really thinking, she pulled on her discarded trews, not entirely sure where she was going, but knowing she needed to be out. For a moment, Marian contemplated the Rose, knowing Jethann or Serendipity would welcome her with open arms; even if she wasn't paying for their services. Hawke glanced at the mantle clock, seeing it wasn't even two in the morning yet... which meant Varric would still be up. Traipsing down to Low Town in the dark wasn't exactly wise, but Marian knew the shortcuts and back allies, and thanks to Isabella, she knew how to move unseen. So her decision was made. The welcome at the Rose would have been good, but nothing compared to time spent drinking awful beer in the excellent company of her best friend.

Quickly, Hawke grabbed her velvet dress coat from it's resting place on one of the armchairs, swiftly shrugging it on. She pulled on her boots with equal ease, but then she ran into a problem. Even after searching high and low, under her bed and even on top of her armoire, Hawke ended up emptied handed and stumped... she couldn't find the red sash that belted her coat anywhere.


	28. Hope (Fenris PoV)

Fenris paced. It was all he could think to do. Fragmented, forgotten memories didn't plague his mind half as bad as the fresh realisation of what he had done. Broken wine bottles littered the floor, the green glass smashed to viscous shards. Still, he paced with nothing but his leg wraps to protect his feet... if he cut himself on the remnants of his latest fit of anger, well, he deserved it. The fire in the hearth had gutted and die, letting the cold of his stolen mansion creep into his bones. It was fitting. The way the chill made his markings sting was fitting, but didn't come close to the pain he must have caused... _her_.

“FASTA VAS!”

His fist connected with the crumbling plaster of the wall, making several grubby pieces clatter to the dusty floor. Fenris' breaths came ragged as he rested his forehead against the rough texture. His knuckles throbbed, and he could already feel the blood begin to trickle between his fingers. He deserved it. He couldn't believe what he had done to her; to Hawke... to _his_ Hawke. The telltale sting of tears pricked his eyes, and he swallowed thickly. He no longer had the right to think of Marian as his. He'd lost the privilege, the moment he walked out on her; when he used her. Bile rose in his throat at the thought, and he punched the wall again. And again. And again. And again.

Sobbing, Fenris collapse to the floor. The fingers of his good hand immediately began to fidget with the scarlet fabric that he'd bound around his wrist. He couldn't even remember picking it up as he'd all but fled from Hawke's room... fled from Marian herself. But it had been clutched tightly in his hand as he'd hurried back to his crumbling mansion. He'd gazed at it during his first bottle of wine, half way through the second, he'd knotted it securely around his wrist. He could never make amends for what he had done, but he hoped Hawke would see the blood red sash and understand... somehow. Five more bottles later, and he'd fallen into a deep pit of despair and self-loathing. After what he'd done to her, he realised he was no better than _them_.

Fenris knew he'd never be worthy of Marian, he'd proven that by his cowardice, but he would gladly pledge himself to her. Hawke had his loyalty, and so much more. He was hers, even if he'd ruined his only shot at happiness... he didn't even deserve her friendship. But he could at least try and win that back; it would be more than enough, more than he should even hope for now. But he'd still protect her, still watch her back, still guard her from the Templars, and the abomination, and anything else the Marker-forsaken world threw at her.

The sound of crunching glass made Fenris' ears twitch, and without thinking, he whirled to face his attacker, his good hand blindly groping for the great sword he _knew_ he'd left propped up by the mantle. Just as his fingers brushed the pommel, he halted. Blinking through the still falling tears, and the hair that had fallen into his eyes, he regarded the figure before him. A choke sob escaped his lips as he regarded her... _his_ Hawke. She wore brown leather trews, and a scarlet shirt under a tan leather corset. Her eyes were subtly lined with Kohl, and her auburn waves were pulled over one shoulder. Her striking emerald eyes looked at him with too much understanding, and her blood red lips quirked into the tiniest hint of a smile. A book was held loosely in her hand.

“You were late for our lesson,” she said, gently.

A watery laugh was startled out of him, as hope surged through him. With his good hand, Fenris scrubbed his face, surprisingly feeling no shame for Marian seeing his weakness. She was here. She'd come, despite everything, she still wanted him around. He would gladly let Hawke see him vulnerable, if it meant she still wanted to see him. Perhaps everything wasn't as hopeless as he'd thought. She'd sought him out, still intent on giving, despite how much he had taken. Fenris knew he'd never be worthy of her, but he silently pledged to devote himself to making everything up to her... _his_ Hawke.

 


	29. Belief (Hawke PoV)

Hawke swallowed thickly, not entirely sure how she'd got here. She's agreed to go see the Arishok with Aveline, but that had turned sour, fast. They'd fought their way out of the compound, thankfully meeting up with Varric and Fenris outside, before battling through the streets of Low Town, only to run into Knight-Commader Meredith... read: ended up being threatened by the bitch. And now, the Viscount's head was at her feet, with the Arishok striding down the throne rooms steps towards her.

“Shanedan, Hawke. I expected you,” he stated, respectfully enough. “But, for all your might, you are no different from these bas. You do not see.”

“I see a man who is ready to start a war on principle,” she returned, closing the distance between them.

“And what would the Qunari be without principle. You, I suspect.” He looked her up and down, before storming back up the the throne. “Prove yourself, basra, or kneel with your brethren.”

At his words, a group of Qunari warriors surrounded them. Unable to help herself, Hawke let out a weary sigh. She really was sick of all the fighting; it was a pointless loss of life. However, her friends' lives were at stake, and she wasn't above using her powers in public, if it meant saving them. So for once, she kept her bow strapped to her back, and channelled her mana. Instead of using the fire skills she preferred, Hawke froze the ground and their opponents. In a mere handful of heartbeats, Fenris and Aveline had shattered the bodies, whilst Varric skewered any that had escaped her icy spell. The fight was laughably one sided, but Hawke's heart was heavy all the same.

“Parshara,” the Arishok called, once again leaving the throne. “You are basalit-an after all. Few in this city command such respect. So tell me, Hawke; you know I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?”

Hawke wasn't terribly surprised when the door to the throne room was dramatically thrown open, a dead Qunari falling face first into the hall. To be honest, Hawke wasn't exactly surprised much by anything anymore. But still, she hadn't expected Isabella of all people to sashay into the room, carrying a rather large, leather bound book; especially considering the woman had absconded with the tome only days again. Then again, perhaps she should have... it was the pirate queen after all.

“I believe I can answer that,” the buxom brunette announced, handing over the tome. “I'm sure you'll find it mostly undamaged.”

“The Tome of Koslun,” the Arishok affirmed, reverently.

Isabella and Hawke shared a look. “It took me a while to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere,” the pirate stated, casually. “You know how it is.”

Though she was still miffed with the disappearing act, Hawke could hear the underlying apology in the pirate's words, and she knew the danger Isabella was putting herself in by returning the tome. Hawke might not agree with the original choice, but she understood that her friend was now trying to make amends. She gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.

“Heroic acts of sacrifice? What will people say?”

“This is your damned influence, Hawke,” Isabella retorted. “I was half way to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It's pathetic.”

“The relic is reclaimed,” the Arishok proclaimed, handing over the tome to one of his soldiers. “I am now free to return to Par Vollen... with the thief.”

“What?!” Isabella demanded.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Aveline interrupted. “If anyone's kicking her ass, it's me.”

“No one needs to kick anyone's ass,” Varric tried to intervene.

“She stole the Tome of Koslun. She must return with us,” the Arishok insisted.

“No,” Hawke stated, stepping in front of Isabella. “You have your relic. She stays with us.”

“Rivani? You might want to move a bit this way,” Varric suggested, gesturing between him and Fenris.

“Then you leave me no choice...”

“Under the laws of the Qun, Hawke is free to make claim to Isabella,” Fenris interrupted the Arishok's ominous words. “She has the right to challenge you.”

Hawke cast him a sideways glance, but Fenris was very pointedly avoiding her gaze. She frowned, unsettled by the turn of events, but she trusted him. If Fenris thought this was a good idea... or perhaps, their only plan, she'd accept it.

The Arishok gave a hum of acknowledgement. “Very well. I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will fight to the death, with her as the prize.”

“What? No! If anyone is going to duel anyone, duel me,” Isabella tried to argue.

“You are not basalit-an. You are not worthy,” the Arishok replied.

“Don't you have what you came for?” Hawke tried, one last time.

“You know we do not suffer thieves. She cannot walk away from this insult. I will take her. If you object, duty demands that we fight.”

Hawke barely stifled another sigh. “Alright. Let's dance.”

“Meravas! So shall it be!”

As a raukus cheer erupted from the gathered Qunari, Fenris managed to pull Hawke aside. His spiked gauntlet dug through the chainmail undershirt of her leather armour, no doubt leaving scratches. However, she didn't pull away, understanding that whatever he had to say was urgent. Without thinking, Hawke leant into his space, barely repressing a shiver as his lips ghosted over the shell of her ear as he spoke:

“Use my markings.”

Hawke jerked, wanting to pull away to look at him, scandalised. But Fenris held her close.

“I know you can feel the lyrium in my veins, Hawke. The markings sing when you're near. Use it.”

“But Danarius...”

“You are not Danarius, Hawke. I trust you.”

“I won't hurt you,” she hissed.

“I know,” he assured, surprisingly calm. His hand unexpectedly finding hers. “You can win this fight, just let me help you.”

 


	30. Champion (Fenris PoV)

Fenris blinked back tears. He'd almost forgotten how pain it was, when someone else used his markings. Of course, the lyrium coursing through his veins was always unpleasant, but having someone else rip it from his body... but that wasn't right. As off-kilter as Fenris felt, he knew that wasn't right. Hawke hadn't ripped the lyrium from him, she hadn't even called for it until the very end. He'd honestly thought he'd sent her to her death, as he watched her fight the Arishok; it couldn't be called a duel, a bow against sword was a poor match, especially when it seemed Hawke was reluctantly to use her magic as well. Fenris had screamed her name, her name; Marian not Hawke, when the Qunari's great axe had swung at her midsection. A small part of his brain realised he'd probably announced to everyone present, the depths of his feelings for the vivacious redhead. But he didn't care. All Fenris cared about was the woman who's death he was surely about to watch... he never realised how a broke heart could feel like physical pain.

But then he felt it. Hawke's mana surged towards him, calling to the lyrium in his veins. For a moment, Fenris could have sworn he felt their powers merge together, swirling and dancing in the space between them, until Hawke had pulled the lyrium from his body. Gasping in shock at the sensation, Fenris fell to his knees, just as a blinding light filled the room. He could feel the heat of Hawke's fire magic lick his face for a heartbeat, the roar of the flames filling the throne room, before a deafening silence suddenly fell. He glanced up, immediately seeing the Arishok's body laying lifeless on the floor... or at least, what was left of it.

Despite the lyrium Hawke had pulled from him, Fenris watched as she waved on her feet. Without thinking, he was by her side, catching her before she crumpled to the floor. He frowned, concerned. Hawke shouldn't be feeling weak after using his lyrium, he was the one who should be left drained and vulnerable. But then Fenris realised, though he felt fatigued, it was nothing compared to what Danarius would subject him to. Lyrium still coursed through his veins, and immediately he realised why; regardless of the intensity of the spell, Hawke had not taken enough of his power to sustain herself. Just enough to bolster her already considerable gift. Closing his eyes, he cradled her trembling body to his chest, pressing his lips to her hair.

“You damn idiot, Hawke,” he muttered.

“Wasn't... going to... hurt... you... Fen,” she gasped, obviously exhausted.

A warm hand suddenly lay on Fenris' shoulder. He tensed, even as he curled more protectively around Hawke, before locking eyes with the new comer. For a moment, he relaxed, even as a blush tinged his ears pink, when Varric gave him a small knowing smile. Around them, Qunari were marching out, leaving the remains of their leader where it fell. Crouching down, the dwarf pressed a lyrium potion into Hawke's hands, even helping her raise it to her lips when she fingers shook to much to uncork the bottle.

“Quite the light show, Marian,” Varric smiled, his toned soft and indulging.

“Only the best for you, sexy,” she winked.

Unable to help himself, Fenris snorted. Even as his heart still hammered in his chest, fatigue warring with adrenaline, he shook his head fondly. They were always like this. No matter how perilous the situation, or dire the circumstances, they always found a way to joke. Secretly, Fenris had always been a little jealous of the obvious bond the two shared, but right now, he couldn't be more thankful. Marian was smiled, even if it was at the dwarf and not him. It was bright and honest, though tired, and something unclenched in Fenris' chest just seeing it.

Of course, that was the exact moment the door burst open again. Knight-Commander Meredith marched in, a hoard of her Templars following close behind, as well as an elven mage; Orison he though Hawke had called him. The knight-commander's eyes immediately fell to the three of the crouched on the floor, and though Varric tried to quickly hide the lyrium bottle, Fenris knew the woman had seen it. Not that it mattered, he supposed, he'd vaguely heard the implied threat to Hawke whilst they hard battled their way to the keep.

Slowly, Fenris helped Marian to stand, before positioning himself in front of her. Quickly calculating which of the opponents would be best to dispatch first. Threat wise, the knight-commander would be the obvious choice, but it would be easy to become overwhelmed by the sheer number of Templars she'd brought with her. It seemed he wasn't the only one weighing up their options.

“You take the ice queen,” Varric whispered. “Me and Bianca will take care of the ones on the right, Ravani will deal with the ones on the left.”

As the dwarf spoke, Fenris noticed Isabella materialise from her cloud of smoke, right behind the group of Templars. The corner of his mouth twitched in response. It wouldn't be the easiest fight they'd ever had, but it could be doable, especially if Hawke recovered enough to aid them. Naturally, it would have been nice to have another warrior on their side, but he wouldn't think to put Aveline in that position; and he knew Marian certainly wouldn't. But then, the gathered nobles who had been a frightened mess not moments before, were suddenly positioning themselves between their small group and the Templars. The clamour was deafening. Some were cheering and clapping, others were praising Hawke, others were demanding why it had been left for a citizen to defend them instead of the Templars. To Fenris' surprise, the knight-commander sheathed her sword.

“It's over then?” she called to Hawke, tersely.

“It's over,” Marian affirmed, locking narrowed eyes with the woman.

Meredith took a look around the crowd, before slowly striding through it. However, Fenris would not back down, even when the knight-commander was directly in front of him. There was no chance he'd let anyone hurt Hawke, and since Varric still had Bianca primed, he knew he wasn't the only one. But then, Marian's hand was on his shoulder, as she side stepped around him. Though she didn't move in front of him, instead opting to stand beside him like he was somehow her equal. Varric sandwiched her between them, Isabella once again materialising from her smoke bomb, this time to stand just behind the dwarf. Even Aveline came to stand with them, her sword and shield held ready, leaving no room to question where her loyalties lay.

“Well done. It appears Kirkwall has a new champion.”

Even though she spoke the words, it looked like it physically pained the knight-commander to say such. However the gathered nobles loved it, their cheers becoming more raucous. Even some of the Templar's removed their helmets, and nodded respectfully at Hawke, some even dared smile. However, Fenris' gaze locked on the elven mage, and his eyes narrowed. He didn't like the way he looked at Marian, it was too... calculating. Fenris knew things were far from over.

 


	31. All that Remains (Hawke PoV)

Hawke led on her side on top of her eiderdown, her head pillowed in Varric's lap, as he gently carded his hands through her hair. They were both starring into the embers of the hearth's fire, as the dwarf talked in soothing tones to her.

She felt sick, wishing it was somehow all a terrible nightmare; that she'd wake up any minute and see her mother's smiling face again... and not the macabre doll that bastard had turned her into. After stopping the Arishok, Hawke had thought things would get better. But how wrong had she been.

Murder, necromancy, blood magic, the desecration of dead bodies. Her stomach roiled again, but there was nothing left for Hawke to throw up. She'd barely ate since her mother had gone missing, and since finding her... well, she doubted she'd have an apatite anytime soon. Or sleep again, for that matter. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see her mother's head gruesomely stitched onto the shambling corpse. Thankfully Varric had stayed with her, the only only one of her companions to do so.

Aveline had stormed off straight after the fight with Quentin and Gascard; to get a group of her guards, she'd returned shortly, and gently taken the mangled body from Hawke's arms. The warrior had personally carried the remains to the Chantry. Fenris had departed once they had reached the Hawke estate. It seemed like he'd wanted to say something, Hawke noticed his hand twitch, as if he wanted to reach for her. Instead, he'd offered her a small bow, before heading to his own mansion. It had hurt, to see him walk away. Though in truth, Hawke hadn't expected much different. Even since he had walked out on her, their friendship had been rather tentative, though she thought things were improving; after the business with the Arishok. But perhaps she was wrong...

Varric, on the other hand, was a different story.

The dwarf had refused to leave her side. When Hawke had been crying over what was left of her mother, Varric had stood behind her, his hands firmly gripping her shoulders. Anchoring her. He'd held her hair back, each time she failed to keep even a glass of water down. He'd sat outside the bathroom door as she scrubbed off blood and demon ichor, telling her about his idea for a series featuring a formidable, female Guard Captain.

He'd bathed quickly, having kept a spare change of clothes at the estate for years, just as Hawke did at the Hanged Man... for nights when either a mission or drinking had taken it's toll, and trudging home was too much to bear. As he washed, Orana had pressed a cup of sweetened tea into Hawke's hand, refusing to budge until she drank it all; and Hawke half suspected that was Varric's doing as well.

Now they rested on her bed, and had been doing for some time. At first, their quiet conversation had been trivial topics. Light and inconsequential. After a while, the conversation had slipped into story telling, and Hawke had told of her family's life on the run, and also of their time in Lothering. Tears had slipped steadily down her cheeks as she spoke, and Varric's arm had curled around her waist, pulling her into a one armed hug. Despite the tears, it had felt good to remember the pleasant times she'd spent with her family, and she almost enjoyed reliving the memories. Then Gamlin had shown up. Varric had stood outside the study door as they spoke, as Hawke had explained what had happened. She knew the hurtful things Gamlin had said about mages were only spoke out of grief, but they had cut her deeply. Of course, her trusty best friend had charged to her rescue. Politely but firmly seeing Gamlin to the door, before ushering Hawke back up to her room. Which was why she now had her head in his lap, his dexterous fingers weaving gently through her unbound hair.

“You know Gamlin is talking tripe,” he said, conversationally. As if they were discussing topics no more serious than the weather. “Magic didn't do this, a madman did.”

“But magic is what let him do what he did,” Hawke countered, bitterly.

Varric let out a low sigh. “My father used to keep in contact with some old friends back in Orzammar. Most of their letters were updates on respective families, and titbits of gossip. When I was fifteen, I remember one particular letter that really stood out. His friend had included several cuttings from the Orzammar news sheet. It detailed the capture of a serial killer that had just been apprehended. A nug-licker who kept part of his victims as trophies... Magic has nothing to do with being crazy.”

Before Hawke could reply, there was a sound of footsteps outside her room, before the door was gently pushed open. She shoved herself into a seated position, expecting it to be Orana or Bodahn... perhaps even Aveline. What Hawke did not expect, was to see Fenris standing there. Varric hopped from the bed, and kissed her on the forehead before he stepped away.

“For the record,” he began, loud enough for Fenris to hear. “You don't belong locked up, Princess. You're the best of us. And if they ever take you, I'll storm the gallows myself to get you back.”

With that, Varric left, nodding to Fenris as he passed.

 


	32. Always (Fenris PoV)

Fenris stood a little straighter as Varric strode passed him, not missing the warning look that was barely hidden by the dwarf's respectful nod. But he didn't have much time to think on it, too shook by the sight of Hawke... of Marian before him. His hands trembled slightly as he stepped over her chamber's threshold; he hadn't been back here since _that_ night. But after the events of the day, Fenris had longed to hold her, comfort her... but he didn't know how. What was more, after what he'd done, Fenris knew he had no right to do so. He'd fled back to his decrepit mansion, and paced. Not even bothering to drink, or rage at the abuse of magic. He'd brooded, he'd worried, he'd downright fretted until his concern for the fiery mage had driven him back to her doorstep.

A sombre looking Bodahn had let him in, a snivelling Oriana had shown him up to Hawke's room, and now he was there. Looking at a woman who was usually so full of life, so radiant and vibrant, so strangely optimistic. But now... Hawke... Marian was like an empty shell. Her sparkling green eyes were dull, her ever smiling lips where pressed in a thin line. Despite the tear tracks that marred her perfect face, Hawke showed no emotion. Completely expressionless. And for one horrible, stomach churning moment, Fenris couldn't help wonder if this was what a Tranquil Hawke would be like. He felt sick at the thought.

“I don't know what to say, but... I am here,” he stated, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Am I to blame for not saving her?” Hawke asked, her voice eerily even.

Whatever Fenris had expected her to say, it wasn't that. In truth, he'd been prepared for her to scream at him, to kick him out. He'd left her, abandoned her that night... and though she'd done nothing but keep gifting him with her friendship, Fenris knew he had no right to comfort her... to see her so vulnerable, to be the one she could turn to. But it seemed, against all reason, that she was giving him a chance. He swallowed audibly, as he cautiously approached the bed; Marian's bed. The bed he saw in his more far fetched dreams.

“I could say no, but would that help?” he asked, hesitantly.

Hawke huffed a humourless laugh, before hugging her knees to her chest, her gaze staring into the flames of the crackling hearth.

“I guess not,” she sighed. “Just... say something, anything.”

Fenris baulked at the request, floundering for what to say. “They say... death is only a journey. Does that help?”

Her gaze snapped up to him, her eyes rimmed with red and shining with unshed tears. For a terrible moment, Fenris thought Hawke would ask why he was there, or simply throw him out. Of course, he knew he deserved it. But then she unexpectedly cracked a wry smile, shaking her head.

“You know, it just raises questions... like: journey to where?”

Fenris blinked at her in confusion, she hadn't been like this with Varric, just moments before... then it clicked. In heart stopping clarity. He found it surprisingly hard to swallow passed the unexpected lump in his throat. She was doing this... the smile, the inane question... for him. She was trying to be okay... for him. Fenris had never felt more worthless in his life. He wasn't sure if it was simply because Hawke didn't trust him, or she just didn't want to burden him, but either scenarios made him feel terrible. Right then he realised Hawke meant _everything_ to him.

The urge to flee; to mutter some hurried apology before running to lick his wounds, was almost overwhelming. He knew he was no good at this, knew Marian deserved so much more than what he had to offer. But she hadn't kicked him out yet, that had to count for something, surely? So cautiously, his heart hammering in his chest and nerves coiling in his gut, Fenris perched on the side of her bed.

“I don't know,” he replied, quietly.

Hawke sighed. “What about your mother?” she asked, gently. “Is she still alive?”

“I don't know,” Fenris repeated, hating being so useless. “I don't remember her.”

Marian's forced smile trembled. “I guess at least I have memories... and I suppose they say you go back to the Maker when you die.”

“I've heard that too,” he agreed, before adding: “To be honest, I don't think there's much point filling these moments with empty talk.”

Steeling himself for the rejection that would certainly follow, Fenris reached out to Hawke; hoping she wouldn't notice how his gauntlet-free hand shook as he did so. Her brow furrowed in confusion, before her eyes frantically searched his face. Fenris' heart beat faster than ever as he waited, unsure what she was looking for. Whatever it was, Hawke must have found it, because he unexpectedly found himself with a fiery mage clinging to the front of his tunic. A violent sob wracked her body, as her fingers curled tightly into the cotton fabric. Fenris hesitated for a heartbeat, before he hugged her tightly to his chest. He'd never imagined he'd have the chance to have Hawke in his arms again, but now he held her as tight as he dared.

“I cannot image what it must be like to loose your family,” he whispered into her unruly hair. “Anything I could say would be insufficient, I'm sorry. But I am here for you... Marian. Always.”

 


	33. Promise (Hawke PoV)

The next three years saw Hawke looking over her shoulder more and more, Varric never far from her side. Surprisingly, neither was Fenris; bar some of the mercenary work he and Isabella occasionally picked up. Hawke would have gone with them, but like Varric, she had the feeling that if she left Kirkwall for too long, the city would implode. Not that it wasn't already heading that way as it was. No one had risen to take the Viscount's place, and Meredith was using the opportunity to gain a choke hold on the city, thanks to her Templars. Dissident among the mages; a situation that Anders was very keen to keep Hawke appraised of, wasn't the only trouble brewing in Kirkwall. Ordinary citizens, noble and working class alike were growing restless.

Meredith and Orsino were at each others throats on a daily basis, often trying to drag Hawke into their pissing contest. She refused. No matter how publicly nor how loudly they tried, she remained a neutral party, constantly emphasising that she only wanted what was best for the city she'd made her home. Of course, that wasn't to say she like Meredith, not in the least. She knew the knight-commander was itching for an opportunity to brand her and throw her in the gallows. The only reason Meredith couldn't, was that the people loved her... the Champion of Kirkwall. It was a title Hawke hated, but she knew it was about the only thing that was keeping her and some of her friends safe. And despite the accusations Anders made, on the days Justice was a little too vocal for anyone's liking, she did care about the mages in the gallows. Hawke knew they were being oppressed, and she hoped that if she demonstrated what a mage could... should be, that perhaps things would improve for them. That didn't mean she was going to side with Orsino; being a mage did not make him trustworthy, and there was something about the man that set off alarm bells for Hawke.

So she walked on a knife's edge. Constantly waiting for everything to blow up in her face in a spectacular manner. It was exhausting, and Hawke knew her health was suffering. Both Bodahn and Oriana tried there best, but without her mother around, she rarely made time for a proper meal. Naturally, Varric knew, and was always tossing her an apple or offering her a bite of whatever he was eating, whenever they were together. Even Fenris was in on the act, laying out cheese and bread during the times she went over to share a bottle of wine with him, which was pretty much a weekly occurrence now; despite _that_ night.

Oddly enough, as the whirlwind years passed by, Hawke found herself drawing closer than ever to Fenris. It wasn't the same as before, but somehow the connection was deeper, stronger. Despite how their physical contact had dwindled to the occasional hug of farewell, when they'd perhaps drank a little more than they should. If it had been anyone else, Hawke would have distanced herself, but their 'relationship' firmly back in friends-only territory. But with Fenris, she couldn't deny there was still something between them. She often found his gaze lingering on her, he offered her more tentative smiles when they were alone together, he was more attentive than he'd been before. And of course... the scarlet sash the warrior wore around his wrist. _Her_ vivid red sash, the one Hawke couldn't find the night he left. Fenris had kept it all these years, and even when he changed out of his armour, he rebound his wrist with the now fraying material.

Hawke had caught him fastening it once, and the intensity in his gaze when he'd locked eyes with her, had been breath taking. He'd even offered her his wrist, silently asking for her to bind the knot to keep it in place. The air had felt charged as she'd done so, and she couldn't forget how both their hands had shaken as she fastened the material securely around his wrist. And though not a single word had been spoke, Hawke understood; the sash that Fenris wore... it was a promise.

 


	34. Understanding (Fenris PoV)

Fenris paced back and forth as he listened to Aveline, worry and nerves twisting his stomach in knots. At times like this, he regretted not asking for Hawke's help. She knew him better than anyone, would know just the right thing to say, to ease his unspoken fears. Instead, he'd approached Aveline and Isabella... worried that if he'd spoken to Varric, word would have gotten back to Hawke. It wasn't that he didn't want the mage involved, far from it. When he'd first decided on this path, the first person he'd thought of was Hawke. But she had so much resting on her shoulders now, the entire city to be exact, that Fenris didn't want to add to her burden. Not to mention knowing he was unworthy to ask for her help, after what he'd put her through... even though Hawke didn't seem to hold it against him, _he_ did.

“An elf, matching your description, on the ship you named,” the guard captain explained. And alone, as far as I can tell.”

Frustrated, he banged his fists against the table. “I need to know if it's a trap!”

Aveline sighed. “I did as you asked, Fenris. The rest is up to you.”

“Is this a bad time?”

Fenris whipped around at the sound of the new voice, swallowing thickly passed the rapidly forming lump in his throat. Hawke was leant against the door jam, her bow held loosely in her left hand. Her auburn hair hung over her one shoulder in a braid, and a half smile was on her berry red lips, even as her brow creased in a small frown. Hawke was dressed in her 'new' armour, the set the citizens of Hightown had gifted her, once she'd been named Kirkwall's Champion... she looked good, as always, but Fenris knew she hated that armour. Of course, Aveline used their friend's arrival as an excuse to take her leave, but not before clasping hands in greeting with her fellow redhead as she passed.

“You talk to him, Hawke,” the guard captain stated. “I've had my fill for today.”

“Venhendis! Fasta Vas!”

He cursed loudly, as Aveline walked away. He hadn't meant for Hawke to find out about this plan... not like this. He'd wanted to approach her on his own terms; because as much as he didn't want to add to her workload and worries, Fenris _knew_ he wouldn't be able to go through with it, not without the fiery mage by his side. It was selfish, and cowardly, but at least he was man enough to admit it... at least to himself. He also worried he'd hurt Hawke, if she found out... she wanted to help everyone, she nearly killed herself on a regular basis to hurt everyone, and Fenris knew she'd have wanted to help with this if he'd let her.

“Maybe it's just me, but I could swear that you were upset,” she said, deadpan.

Her words dragged Fenris out of his thoughts, and startled an unexpected laugh out of him, making some of the tension he felt dissipate. He spared Hawke a tiny thankful smile, understanding she'd done it on purpose, before sitting down heavily on the bench in front of the fire. As he hoped, she didn't wait for an invitation to join him; they were long passed ceremony, even if it felt they were sometimes tiptoeing around each other. Her knee lightly bumping into his; the way Hawke always did, when she wasn't sure if her touch was welcome. It was... reassuring.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked, gently.

Fenris sighed, hanging his head. “It's my sister. I didn't tell you... but I followed up on Hadriana's information. Everything she said was true. I had to keep it quiet, but I eventually contacted Varania and sent her coin enough to come meet me. And now she's here.”

He held his breath, expecting some sort of reaction. Maybe angry he didn't tell her... perhaps upset. But all she said was:

“She was in Qarinus after all?”

Steeling himself, Fenris peeked at Hawke through his hair, to find Hawke looking at him intently. But instead of tears or annoyance, he saw only understanding. He swallowed audibly, once again ashamed. He could never fathom how or why Hawke was so patient with him, so considerate. But she was, and Fenris would always be thankful for that. Still his eyes quickly fell back to the smouldering fire, to ashamed to look at her.

“My sister left Master Ahriman's service, and I found her in Minrathous. That made things more difficult,” he explained, as calmly as he could manage. “But, according to the men I paid, it's just as Hadriana had said. She's not a slave. She's a tailor in fact. Getting a letter to her was difficult, and she didn't believe me at first. But she's finally come.”

“You're worried Danarius knows.”

It was a statement, not a question, and Fenris sighed again; this time in relief. No matter what happened between them, he knew he could always rely on Hawke to understand. He might sometimes forget it, but then she'd say something... something so simple and maybe meaningless to others... but would prove to Fenris that she listened, that she knew him, that she somehow understood.

“The more it seems he doesn't, the more I certain I become that he does!” he stated, through gritted teeth.

“You obviously didn't want my help finding your sister,” Hawke asked, quietly. “But would you like me to come with you to meet her?”

Fenris' gaze snapped up to meet hers. His mouth hung open slightly in shock, before his brain fully comprehended what she had said... what she had offered. Fenris didn't really know why he was surprised. This was Hawke; Marian, after all.

“Yes, come with me. I... need you there when I meet her,” he admitted, almost hesitantly.

“Where is she?”

“If we go to the Hanged Man during the day, she'll be there. For the next week, at least,” Fenris explained. “It would me a lot to me. It's... all I ask.”

Without a word, Hawke held out the hand closest to him, palm up. He blinked at her for a moment, before finally understanding. Shyly, he laced his calloused fingers with her more dainty ones, slightly smiling at how warm her hand felt against his. She gently squeezed his, and once again, Fenris understood... She might not be his, but Marian would always have his back.

 


	35. Alone (Hawke PoV)

The stench of stale ale and stagnant air hit them full in the face, as Fenris pushed the door open to the Hanged Man. Hawke was right behind him, her fingers itching to reach for her bow, as her eyes cautiously scanned the room. She had the overwhelming feeling that something was... _off_. Varric was right beside her, and one glance at her best friend's face, told Hawke the wrongness wasn't just her imagination. If anyone would notice something wasn't right in the Hanged Man, it would be her trusty dwarf; and sure enough, he slowly unslung Bianca from his back.

Hawke hadn't hesitated to give Fenris the support... perhaps even back up... that he'd requested, but she was eternally grateful they'd run into Varric, as he'd been leaving the Merchant's Guild. She'd know that despite being wary; worried that Danarius had caught wind of the meeting, Fenris would only have eyes for his sister, once they reached the Hangman Man. Hawke didn't begrudge him one bit, but it had put her on higher alert, so she was thankful there was another set of eyes to watch Fenris' back.

It took a single heartbeat for them to spot his sister; despite being close to the Alienage, the red haired elf stood out like a sore thumb, amongst the rough and ready patrons of the Hanged Man. She was sat alone near the middle of the room, nursing a small tankard. Fenris glanced at Hawke, almost seeking reassurance, and despite the growing wave of uneasiness, she mustered an encouraging smile for him. He nodded once in response, before leading the way through the mostly deserted room. As they approached her table, the elf glanced up at them, her eyes momentarily wide in shock.

“It really is you.”

“Varania?” Fenris said, hesitantly. “I... I remember you. We used to play in our master's courtyard while Mother worked. You called me...”

“Leto.” the elf stated, standing. “That's your name.”

Fenris frowned. “What's wrong? Why are you so...”

Without really thinking, Hawke grabbed Fenris' wrist, glad he'd chosen to wear his armour; so her hand closed around his gauntlet, rather than his skin and markings. Her gaze darted around the room, her instincts screaming that something wasn't right. She heard Varric swear under his breath, and her eyes quickly locked onto the stairs leading to the upper floor. Hawke could feel the telltale prickle of mana across her skin, and her blood ran cold.

“We have to go,” she hissed, angrily.

“Ah... my little Fenris. Predictable as always.”

From out of the shadowy gloom, a grey haired man began to descend the stairs. He wore traditional mage's robes, an air of arrogance surrounded him; as did several hooded guards... which would explain how he'd managed to walk around Low Town without the Templar's being called. Hawke didn't need to see how Fenris visibly stiffened to know this was Danarius, however, she didn't think she'd ever forget the look of devastation that settled on his face.

“I'm sorry it came to this, Leto,” Varania muttered.

“You led him hear?!” he spat, incredulous.

“Now, now, Fenris. Don't blame your sister,” Danarius mocked. “She did as any good imperial citizen should.”

“Back stab her family?”

The only reason Hawke didn't jump at the unexpected sound of Isabella's voice, was years of practice. The pirate queen emerged from nowhere, standing on Fenris' other side. Hawke slowly moved closer to him, intend on shielding him from Danarius, confident she could throw up a barrier at the first sign of physical threat. Varric followed her lead, edging closer to Fenris whilst keeping all the guards in his line of sight. Hawke wished they'd thought to get Aveline before coming, she hated that Fenris was the only warrior in the group; whether she liked it or not, she knew he'd rush into a fight if it presented itself.

“I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius,” he grit out. “But I won't let you kill me to get them.”

The magister chuckled. “Oh, how little you know, my pet... and this is your new mistress?” Danarius grinned. “The Champion of Kirkwall? Quite lovely.”

“Charming...” Isabella drawled, deadpan.

Hawke bristled. “Fenris doesn't belong to anyone.”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy?” Danarius goaded, his smile turning lecherous. “It's not surprising. The lad is rather... _skilled_ , isn't he?”

“Shut your mouth, Danarius!” Fenris grit out, unsheathing his Greatsword.

The magister sighed. “The word is 'master'.”

“The fuck it is,” Hawke growled.

Pandemonium quickly followed. It was utter chaos, and the regular patrons fled as Danarius' guards attacked. They were shortly dispatched, thanks to a handful of Hawke's well placed fire spells and Isabella's twin blades. Next were a wave of shades and a rage demon, that Varric and Fenris took care of, whilst Hawke tried to whittle down the magister's barrier; with Isabella covering her back. When the first corpse rose from the ground, Hawke narrowly missed being clawed across the face, thanks to Fenris' quick reflexes. Bile stung her throat, as she staggered back several passes, trying to block out the memories of her mother's last moments.

“Freak out later,” Isabella shouted.

“Rivaini...” Varric warned.

“I know!” Hawke interrupted.

At that exact moment, she noticed that Danarius' barrier flickered out of existence, and summoning all the rage that she had, blasted the magister with the most devastating fire spell she knew. His screams filled the air, as did the smell of burning flesh. Despite everything that had happened since fleeing Lothering, it was not something Hawke was use to, and her stomach roiled at the stench. But thankfully, with Danarius lying injured on the grimy floor, his shades and corpse disappeared from whence they came. Like the wolf he'd been named after, Fenris stalked towards the defeated magister, looming over him. There was a murderous look in his eyes, as he grabbed Danarius around the throat, lifting him clean off the floor.

“You are no longer my master,” Fenris growled.

In the blink of an eye, he'd used the claws of his gauntlets to slit the magister's throat, before dropping him like a sack of rubbish. Danarius gurgled, his eyes already clouding over as Hawke shot an arrow into his heart... after the things they'd seen, it always paid to be careful, so she sent a fireball at the magister as well; cremating the body.

“I had no choice, Leto.”

Hawke looked up at the sound of Varania's voice, not exactly surprised to see Fenris towering over his sister, who was cowering in the corner. She could kill the bitch for what she'd done, but it wasn't her place.

“Stop calling me that,” Fenris spat out.

“He was going to make me his apprentice, I would have been a magister,” Varania continued.

“You sold out your own brother to be a magister?!” Fenris snarled.

“You have no idea what we went through,” his sister argued. “What I've had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance.”

“It was your only chance to be reunited with your brother,” Hawke stated, icily.

“And now you have no chance at all,” Fenris grit out, advancing on her.

Varania looked terrified. “Please... don't do this.” Her frightened eyes locked with Hawke's. “Please tell him to stop!”

She couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped her. “Weren't you listening? Fenris belongs to no one. It's not my place to tell him what to do, and if it was up to me, I'd kill you myself.”

“You were ready enough to see me killed. What are you to me, than another tool of the magisters?” Fenris stated.

Though he spoke fiercely, he still hesitated, pausing to glance over at Hawke. He looked conflicted, tortured even, and she understood. She might want to kill anyone who hurt Fenris, but she could never imagine taking Carver's life... and she'd carried the guilt of Bethany's death ever since Lothering. She told him as such, with Varric adding:

“Fenris... don't. It won't help. Trust me.”

Fenris looked between them for a moment, obviously remembering they'd both lost siblings, before he turned back to his sister. “Get out!”

Without wasting a moment, Varania bolted from the corner she'd been huddled in, scrambling for the handle of the front door. She only stopped once it was open, and she was poised to flee the Hanged Man all together. She turned back to the group then, her eyes locked on Fenris, even as she was edging out of the pub.

“You said you didn't ask for them, but that's not true,” Varania stated. “You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won, you used the boon to have Mother and I freed.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Fenris demanded, his voice full of anguish.

“Freedom was no boon,” his sister threw back. “I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain.”

Muscle memory had Hawke readying her bow and releasing an arrow. It landed with a heavy thunk right beside Varania's head. The elf paled, and Hawke hoped she understood the warning. Fenris was letting her go, _she_ still wanted her dead.

“Get out!”

As Varania finally fled the Hanged Man, Varric gave Hawke a concerned look, before subtly nodding towards Fenris. He looked lost and dejected, staring blankly into the still smouldering hearth. She squeezed her best friend's shoulder he walked passed, nodding her thanks to Isabella, as the two rogues left the pub; leaving Hawke and Fenris in the ruins of their preferred haunt.

“I thought discovering my past would a sense of belonging,” he whispered, his eyes wet. “But I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too. There is nothing left for me to reclaim. I'm alone.”

Hawke's breath caught at the mention of magic, her hand hovering between them, in an aborted attempt to reach out to him. It _hurt_ , to hear Fenris blame something that was so intrinsic to her being, for the deeds of a narcissistic madman. He must have realised what he'd said... who he'd said it to... because his olive gaze snapped to hers, just as Hawke let her hand fall back to her side. Fighting against her own tears that wanted to fall, she managed a force a weak smile onto her lips.

“I know it's not much, but you have me, Fenris,” she shrugged.

To her utter surprise, he closed the distance between them, gently cupping her face in his gauntlet glad hand. Despite witnessing him slice someone's neck with the claws, Hawke didn't feel frightened when she locked eyes with Fenris... she'd never be afraid of him; no matter how much he hated magic, Hawke was certain he'd never hurt her. He'd had plenty of opportunity to injure, kill or even turn her over to the Templars, but he never had. She trusted him, even without seeing the tenderness he currently regarded her with. So her smile became a little more honest, as he rested his forehead briefly against hers, before pulling away completely.

“You heard what Varania said,” Fenris muttered, shaking his head. “I wanted these, I fought for them. I feel unclean. Like this magic is not only etched into my skin, but has also stained my soul.” He paused, looking at her sadly. Probably once again remembering who he was talking to. “I'm... sorry, Hawke. Let's go. I need to get out of here.”

Her smile was completely fake again, when she replied: “Okay.”

 


	36. Murder of Crows (Multiple PoV)

Crouching low on an overhead beam, hidden by shadows, Solona observed the quartet below her. They had just killed a Vartarrel; which would have been impressive, if they weren't here to kill or capture her husband. One of the women, a brunette with ample cleavage, seemed familiar though Solona was too far away to make out any clear features. So did the blonde mage; there was something in the way he walked that reminded her of a dear friend; but Anders had always been so vain, she couldn't imagine him looking so tatty. She didn't recognise the white haired elf, but their redheaded leader also caught her attention, however Solona couldn't say why.

But it didn't matter, Zevran's life was on the line, and she was his only back up... thanks to the leave of absence Alistair had kindly granted her, in order to track a missing Nathaniel. Her husband was only in the Free Marshes as a favour to her, and she'd never forgive herself if something happened to him.

So notching an arrow, Solona calmed her breathing to allow her to ready a fire spell. Silently, she watched Zevran step from his own concealing shadow; his customary swagger in check, as he raised his hand in greeting to the group. Then surprisingly, she heard him laugh, rich and warm.

"Isabela!"

Zevran's thickly accented voice called out, which pulled a smile to Solona's red lips. That was why the brunette looked so familiar. Without hesitation, she shouldered her bow and slipped back into the shadows, before nimbly making her way down the old scaffolding. If Isabela was there, Solona felt sure there was a chance to get out of this without a fight.

* * *

"If it isn't my favourite pirate wench," Zevran laughed, knowing that calling out Isabela's name would have alerted his beautiful warden to come to his side.

"Shouldn't you be dead by now?" the pirated retorted.

"I could say the same, my dear," he grinned in reply. "We are both fortunate to find powerful… friends. No?"

He turned away from Isabela to the red haired woman who stood beside her, and he was struck by how familiar her face was. Same shape, same complexion, same full lips, same alluring green eyes, very similar hair, the only thing missing was Solona's swirling tattoo. He swallowed thickly, remembering a conversation he'd had with his wife, during the blight... her mother had been pregnant when she'd been taking to the tower, and looking at the woman in front of him, it was obvious she was kin of his lovely warden. His heart stuttering with a pang of regret on behalf of his beloved; this was the sister she never got to meet.

"Tell me Bela, is this one as… _adventurous_ as our dear warden?" he teased, wondering if the woman who practically wore his wife's face had the same temperament.

"We could always ask," Isabela winked, throwing a glance to the redhead.

It didn't escape Zevran's notice that the blonde haired man behind the two women tensed, and his own eyes narrowed; assessing. He would have wonder if the man wasn't her lover, except the white haired elf looked ready to murder him, whilst the blonde looked merely skittish. Still, a smirk pulled at his mouth as he regarded the woman who had his wife's face; taking her hand and raising it to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

"Ah, as much as I like an audience, there are other matters to attend, no? How do you do, I am Zevran Arainai. Adventurer and occasional assassin."

* * *

"You're Zevran?!" Anders blurted out, before he could stop himself.

This was the man Solona was so in love with?!He didn't know why, but he'd expected something else. The Elf was good looking, sure, but he didn't know what to think... or was that Justice's misgivings? And thinking about Solona, made Anders cast a quick but wary glance about the cave, wondering if his old friend was hiding somewhere. But then he noticed the amused look on the assassin's face.

"I've heard about you," Anders covered hastily. "You helped the Hero of Ferelden stop the blight."

As soon as that was out of his mouth, he cursed himself. The use of her title was more Justice's than his. The spirit always regarded the Warden-Commander in high esteem and respect. Not that he didn't, but Anders had simply enjoyed one-too-many late night drinking session with Solona and Oghren to really think of so reverently of her.

* * *

Hawke's interest was piqued. The elf was nothing like she'd been expecting when she'd taken on this job... one that was supposed to be run of the mill, after what happened with Danarius. He seemed to care about the Dalish that were camped at the base of the mountain, both Isabela and Anders seemed to know him in some capacity, and he'd even helped the Hero of Ferelden. She might never have met the woman her mother had said was a distant relative, a cousin of some sort, but Marian Hawke was damn sure the warden who'd saved all of Ferelden from the blight wouldn't keep bad company.

"I must admit, I was awaiting an assault by the Crows, not the mighty Champion of Kirkwall," the assassin grinned, finally letting go of her hand.

"How do you know I'm the champion?" she asked, cautiously.

"Slayer of Qunari, Deep Roads explorer, and a beauty to make the gods jealous," Zevran stated, his voice dropping in pitch and threatening to send a shiver down her spine. "You underestimate your fame, my dear."

To her right, Isabela tried and failed to stifle a laugh, as Anders grumbled behind her. Fenris merely shifted his stance, and Hawke got the impression he was _waiting_ for an opportunity to strike. It was time to steer the conversation into less treacherous waters, if only to save an argument with her them both later.

"You mentioned Crows, I presume you didn't mean birds," she stated.

"Oh please," the assassin gasped. "Do not tell me you know nothing of the Antivan Crows!"

* * *

Solona had been intent to stay hidden in the shadows, simply observing the champion who looked so familiar, no matter how much she wanted to greet Isabela and Anders. Her fellow mage especially, since she hadn't seen him since the business with Justice; which she supposed would mean the spirit was also there to greet... and might explain his unkempt appearance now. However, Zevran's theatrics over the Crows prompted her into action. She wouldn't submit another to listen to his rants about his old guild, no matter how good natured it would be.

"For Makers sake, if you value your sanity, you will run now. Before he can bore you to death with stories about the Crows," Solona called out.

She stepped from her hiding space, and the group's eyes to her. It took more willpower than she'd like to admit, to keep walking towards them, once the champion's eyes met hers. Solona's heart leapt into her throat as she regarded the woman who had her face... her mother's daughter, her sister. _Sister._ Solona could well remember how Alistair's reunion with his own long-lost sibling had gone, and she selfishly hoped this would go better for her.

* * *

For a moment, Isabela gaped at the warden, then at Hawke.   
  
"Andraste's Knickers!" she cursed.   
  
She had heard from Marian that she was somehow related to the hero, but this...   
  
"You're blasted twins!"

"Cousins," Hawke corrected, though the quaver in her voice led Isabela to believe even she thought it was more.

"If you're cousins, I'm the queen of Rivain," the pirate laughed.

* * *

Noticing the almost imperceivable strain his lovely wife's face, Zevran made an attempt to lessen the burden on the sisters. Namely, by reminding the Champion that she had mostly likely come to kill him. Still, he draped an arm lazily around Solona's shoulders; the closet thing he could get to giving her a hug, given the situation.

"So, let me guess," he drawled. “A man named Nuncio had asked you to catch a dangerous killer, yes?"

As the Champion nodded, Solona sighed, echoing Zevran's own feelings. The Crows, or what was left of them, were a near constant thorn in their sides; Nuncio being almost as bad as Taliesen had been.

"What did he say this time?" he asked, curious despite himself. "That I killed his wife? Butchered his parents? Sold his children into slavery? Or did he tell you that is a lawman from Antiva, charged with capturing a ridiculously handsome fugitive?"

He punctuated his question with a charming, flirtatious smile, causing Solona to snort in amusement.

"He didn't mention how handsome," the Champion quipped, smirking.

"Oh, I like her," he grinned, looking at his wife.

"Good looking woman who pays you a compliment, why am I not surprised?" Solona smiled.

"Well, you know a woman can't resist those high cheekbones," Isabela grinned.

"Oh, I thought it was his 'pouty lips' that did it for you Izzy?" the warden winked.

Zevran easily noticed how the two men behind the pirate and the Champion shifted from foot to foot, obviously feeling uncomfortable with the exchange. Which only led him to feeling more daring.

"So, my dear Champion, you can either tie me up, gag me, then manhandle me, or… you can take me to Nuncio," he flirted.

He was unable to hide his smirk as the blonde mage and white haired elf gaped at him, then at Solona; who merely chuckled. Zevran may flirt outrageously, and as a couple, they'd had a few adventurous nights... Isabela could contest to that. But he was loyal, the only woman who held his heart was Solona, he'd never do anything to hurt or betray her; she knew that.

"I like you're list of options," the Champion stated. "But does it have to be in that order?"

"I knew you couldn't resist my obvious charms," he teased. "It's the accent, isn't it?"

Undoubtedly, that earned him rolled eyes from his beloved wife, but he'd said it because he knew it was one of the things his enchantress found most arousing. And if he was laying it on a little thickly, well, that was only for them to know.

* * *

Hawke's feelings were in turmoil. In front of her stood the Hero of Ferelden; who looked so like her, that she was seriously doubting the truth of her mother claiming she was merely a cousin... and after what had happened to the rest of her family, Hawke was desperate to know more about the warden; no matter how they were related. Also the assassin they were sent to kill was a complete puzzle. He was utterly charming, easy on the eye, and above all, seemed to be being truthful. Also, his arm around the shoulders of the woman who could possibly be her sister, was swaying her opinion somewhat. Without a shadow of a doubt, Hawke knew she wasn't going to turn him in, however…

"What do you think, Isabela? You know him best," she asked.

"I've had better," the pirate shrugged.

There was a moment of stunned silence, before Hawke's mouth began to tug into a smile she was unable to hide. For a heartbeat, she wondered if her grin would offend the warden, until Solona Amell broke the silence and outright laughed, tears actually rolling down her cheeks.

* * *

Silently, Fenris watched the exchange.

The assassin they'd been tracking was nothing as he was expecting; other than a fellow elf, but that wasn't what had his attention. He couldn't get passed the fact that the Hero of Ferelden looked so like Hawke; Fenris had to agree with Isabela, there seemed little chance that these two remarkable women were merely cousins, and not sisters.

Another thing that surprised Fenris, was that he found himself approving of yet another mage. One that also carried an ornate bow, yet inexplicably had two daggers strapped to her waist. Intent on remaining a passive spectator, at least for now, Fenris rolled his shoulders, relaxing his stance and watched the scene unfold. He was still wary of the assassin flirting with Hawke, but it seemed the elf was with the Hero of Fereldan, which eased his misgivings... a little.

* * *

Now that it had thankfully been decided that Zevran wasn't going to be handed into that blasted Nuncio, Solona turned her attention to greeting her old friends. First, she was caught by an unexpected hug from Isabela, and she gave the pirate a cheeky kiss on the lips, mostly for Zevran's benefit.

"Tentadora seducción," he muttered, a smile evident in his voice.

Chuckling, she turned her attention to her fellow mage, and eyed him critically. She caught how the Champion shifted into a ready position, and Solona smiled to herself; glad her fellow warden had found someone to stand by him, after he'd stupidly fled.

"Hello Anders," she smiled, pulling the blonde into a tight embrace. "And you Justice," she added. "It's been too long."

Stepping back a fraction, she held her friend's face in both her hands, his arms still loosely around her waist. Her eyes quickly roved over him, before she sighed in relief.

"Where's the vain man I called brother? We've been worried about you, you know? You promised to write," she admonished. Then turned to Hawke, who was looking at her in surprise. "Thank you for looking after this idiot."

* * *

Relaxing her stance, Hawke looked into the eyes of the other redhead; it was disconcerting, almost like looking into a mirror. Yet the warden's words made her smile, it seemed she was a friend of Anders, one that really cared for him… and Justice, as Hawke could have sworn she heard her fellow mage greet the spirit as well.

"Idiot about sums it up," she chuckled, throwing Anders a smile. "Marian Hawke, by the way."

She offered out her hand to the women who could so easily be her sister.

"Solona Amell," the warden replied, shaking her hand.

The warmth in the woman's smile made Hawke think she wasn't as alone in Thedas as she feared.

* * *

 

As the two women shook hands, Zevran eyed the blonde mage.

"So this is the infamous Anders?" he grinned at the man, who gave him a wary look in return. "My dear Grey Warden has told me much about you, my friend, and she was most adamant that we track you down, when we set off to find Nathaniel."

"She was?" Anders asked, evidently puzzled. “Hang on, Nathaniel's missing?”

"Indeed,” he said, answering both questions. “Also, a particular interestingly fragranced dwarf wanted us to find you; who we were on our way to meet, before Nuncio picked up our trail," Zevran explained.

The mage's caramel coloured eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"Oghren… I cannot say, though Solona has been deeply concerned for you _both_ , my friend. As for me, I wanted to thank you for looking out for my fearless enchantress, when circumstances took me from her side.”

Zevran noticed Anders' eyes widened when he said 'both', making him chuckle.

"Ah, yes. I do indeed know of your particular… circumstances. I must say, risky lengths to go for a friend, but no less noble for that."

* * *

 _'She told him about us?'_ Justice's thoughts collided with Anders' own, both surprised and angry.

 _'And he's not bother about it,'_ Anders pointed out, starting to realise what Solona saw in the enigmatic Elf.

' _They were looking for us. They were… concerned?'_ Justice asked.

' _Seems so'_ he replied. "So you and Oghren? Just couldn't survive without me huh?" Anders quipped, trying to force the old teasing tone he had always used with Solona.

"And Nate," she replied, smiling. "Though he went missing before we could meet up to track you down. You are an incredibly difficult man to find." There was a proud note to her voice as she said this. "Oh, and Delilah says Pounce is doing great. He and Nathaniel junior are apparently inseparable."

The relief Anders felt that Ser Pounce-a-lot was doing well, was overwhelming. He couldn't help but grin, giving the beloved cat to Nathaniel's sister to look after had been hard, but evidently also one of the few good ideas in his life.

' _As was becoming friends with the Warden-Commander'_ Justice stated.

Anders couldn't help but agree. It was good to see their old friend again, almost like a weight had slightly lifted... Justice was sure she would be another ally to their cause.

* * *

Despite being quite angry that Nuncio had lie to her, Hawke couldn't help but be oddly content with this unusual situation; since it had given her the chance to meet another family member. However, one problem loomed large over them… what to do with that blasted Nuncio, and she said as much.

Solona laughed. "That is easy," she grinned, her green eyes sparkling mischievously. "Fireballs, lots and lots of fireballs."

"What?" Zevran gasped, holding his hand dramatically over his heart. "No Daggers? Arrows coated in lethal poison? How unfortunate…"

He sounded genuinely upset at that, causing Hawke to chuckle. There was little point denying she already liked the unusual pair.

She grinned. "This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an idea that came to me whilst playing DA2, but based off my Amell from 'The Mage's Assassin' story. I couldn't help bringing Solona & Zevran back, and they will probably pop up again. Tentadora seducción means Seductive Temptress in Spanish.


	37. Devotion (Fenris PoV)

Fenris understood why Hawke often pinched the bridge of her nose; he was getting a headache. He knew his friends meant well, but it was too much. It was mere hours after he'd returned from Sundermount... well, they'd ended up on the outskirts of Kirkwall, but that was besides the point. He was both mentally and physically exhausted, from fighting a guild of assassins and having to watch whilst an ex-assassin flirted shamelessly with Hawke, whilst he wife watched on; a wife that could very well be Hawke's sister, and was the famed Hero of Fereldan, he might add. Not to mention having to spend the entire trip in the company of Anders... Fenris had just wanted some peace and quiet. But of course, that exactly when they'd decided to ambush him. He could almost see it from Varric and Aveline's point of view, almost. They had been left behind in the city, dealing with various issues that needed their attention, but Isabela been out with him and Hawke, so Fenris couldn't quite forgive her for tagging along.

“You know, you could go anywhere you like now,” the pirate drawled, as she lounged on the bench.

“I'm aware of that,” he replied, curtly.

Isabela's eyes lit up. “Oh! You could become a raider! You could join my crew!”

“The crew of your non-existent ship?” Fenris asked, deadpan.

“Well, with that attitude, you're never going anywhere, are you?” the pirate said, finally sitting up

“You don't need to stay in this pit anymore, you know?” Varric interjected. “Not that you haven't, um... fixed it up nicely.”

“It's falling apart,” Aveline complained, narrowing her eyes at the dwarf, before turning to Fenris. “And my ability to keep the Seneschal from noticing is nearing an end.”

“I appreciate what you've done, Aveline,” Fenris acknowledged, sincerely.

“But you're still staying?! You could go anywhere now,” Varric stated, emphatically.

Of course, Hawke chose that moment to appear in the doorway, and Fenris caught her eye. Even after all these years, the sight of her made his heart skip a beat. He drank in the sight of her, freshly changed from their excursion; free from her distinctive armour and wearing a red tunic over black trews. She had probably bathed before changing, if the way her auburn locks curled damply at the ends... and Fenris realised he had been staring too long. He offered her a hesitant smile, before turning back to their friends.

“Perhaps I do not wish to go else where,” he replied.

“Freedom must be a terrible burden, I guess,” Varric sighed.

Fenris let out a smile sigh of relief, glad that no one had caught the real meaning of what he'd said, and as one, the trio made their way out of his dilapidated room. Fenris saw how Isabela rolled her eyes at the Hawke, and how Varric squeezed her hand in passing, but he decided not to comment. This was the first time they'd been alone since they'd defeated Danarius; always busy with one job or another. Some days Fenris thought Hawke was doing it for his benefit, to keep his mind busy, and others he reckoned it was so she could avoid talking to him properly; despite the anger and desolation he'd felt, Fenris _had_ seen the hurt in her vivid green eyes, when he'd once again cursed magic in her presence. And as much as he hated Danarius, the magisters, the whole of Tevinter if he were honest, Fenris could now admit it there was some good mages out there; Hawke was one of them... unfortunately ones like Hadriana and Anders were still far too common. Thinking about them was a sure fire way to make himself angry, so he focused on the woman in front of him; smiling slightly as she took a seat on the bench without prompting.

“They don't understand,” he sighed. “Yes, I am free. Danarius is dead. Yet... it doesn't feel like it should.”

“I guess revenge isn't all you thought it would be, since it seems like you should be dancing for joy,” Hawke stated, not unkindly.

“I would have thought so too,” Fenris agreed. “I thought if I didn't need to run and fight to stay alive, I would finally be able to live as a free man does. But how is that? My sister is gone, and I have nothing... not even an enemy.”

“Maybe that just means that there's nothing holding you back,” she offered.

“Hmm... an interesting thought. It's just... difficult to overlook the stain that magic has left on my life.” He paused, realising what he had said. “I'm sorry. If I seem bitter, it's not without cause.”

“I can appreciate that,” Hawke said, quietly. “But not all magic is bad. Not all of us are madmen like that bastard was.”

“I know. You've taught me that, Marian.” Cautiously, Fenris moved to sit beside her; wanting to prove his point, but unsure of his welcome. “Perhaps it is time to move forward, I just... don't know where that leads. Do you?” he asked, hopefully.

Fenris' heart pounded in his chest, as he waited for Hawke's response. He peeked at her, through the curtain of his hair, watching as she stared at the dancing flames of the hearth. Then to his surprise, Hawke held out her hand to him, palm up; just as she'd done the night she'd agreed to meet Varania with him. He swallowed thickly, before slowly entwining his fingers with hers.

“Wherever it leads, I hope it means we'll stay together... even just as friends,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the flames. “I meant when I said I'd always be there for you, Fenris.”

“Thank you. That is my hope, as well,” he murmured, feeling nervous. It felt like it was now or never. “We have... never discussed what happened between us three years ago.”

Hawke shrugged, glancing at him out the corner of her eye. “You didn't want to talk about it.”

Fenris sighed. “I felt like a fool,” he admitted, squeezing her hand. “I thought it better if you hated me, I deserve no less. But it isn't better. That night... I remember your touch as if it were yesterday. I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now?”

She finally looked at him properly. “There's nothing to forgive. Yes it hurt, but I knew you must have your reasons, and I could never hate you anyway.” Her thumb rubbed gently over his knuckles. “Though if you're saying what I think you are, I need to understand why you left, Fenris. I don't want to repeat the same mistakes again.”

“I've thought about the answer a thousand times,” he confided. “The pain, the memories it brought up.”

“I hurt you?!” she gasped, horrified.

“No... not like that.” he quickly assured. “It's hard to explain. It was... too much, I was a coward. If I could go back, I would stay and tell you how I felt.”

Hawke leant towards him. “What would you have said?”

Fenris cupped her cheek with his bare hand. “Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”

“Fenris...”

Her verdant gaze sparkled with unshed tears, and for one awful moment he thought Hawke was rejecting him. Then he noticed that her eyes were searching his, looking for an unknown answer. With gut retching regret, Fenris realised Hawke didn't believe him... right then and there, he understood he'd hurt her far more than she ever let on. But she had to believe him. Fenris knew he didn't deserve Hawke; he hadn't then and didn't now. But he'd thought about her every night, since that fateful one, every day as well. His life was meaningless without Hawke in it, he still wore her red sash, silently showing the devotion it had taken him three years to admit. Fenris knew he'd spend the rest of his life making it up to Hawke, if she only let him. So without letting go of her trembling hand, he got down on one knee before her, and told her solemnly:

“If there is a future to be had, I would walk into it gladly by your side.”

 


	38. Consumation (Hawke PoV)

Hawke's heart beat frantically, as she looked at the elf kneeling in front of her. Her mouth was dry, and she nervously licked her lips, even as her trembling hands reached out to cup Fenris' face. When she came here tonight, Hawke had imagined sharing a bottle of wine, hoping to get their friendship back on track; yes, she could admit at least to herself, she'd avoided spending quality time with him... hurt by his endless hatred of magic.

So she certainly hadn't expected to have a heart to heart with Fenris, for him to bring up what had happened between them, all those years ago. But he had, even admitting to still caring for her, just as she still cared for him. Hawke was ashamed to admit, she hadn't fully believed him. But now... as he looked up at her, so vulnerable and honest, waiting for her answer.

“Fenris, are you asking...”

“Marry me,” he interrupted, his voice a whisper. “I know I cannot live without you, Marian.”

She searched his gaze. “You know any children we might have, could be mages.”

He nodded. “I know...” he paused, looking nervous. “I was hoping you could... help... get me passed my fears.” He cautiously rested a hand on her knee. “Please know, I would love our children regardless; you would be their mother, how could I not? But I would like to be able to support my children, which I doubt I'd be able to do, without your help.”

Fenris' answer gave Hawke hope, but still she pressed: “And you'd be okay living with me, at the Hawke estate?”

“Would you be okay with it? Publicly having an elven lover will not help your reputation,” he admitted, quietly.

“You wouldn't be my lover, you'd be my husband,” she pointed out. “And I'd be proud of it.”

His eyes widened. “Does that mean...?”

Hawke actually giggled. “Yes. Yes, Fenris. I'll marry you.”

Before she could really comprehend what was happening, Fenris had scooped her up, kissing her fiercely. Hawke's legs instinctively wrapped around his slender waist, as he carried her to his dilapidated bed. He set her down with the utmost care, before leaning over her. The look he gave was nothing short of adoring, as he stroked Hawke's hair tenderly.

“We don't have to,” she whispered.

“I would like to try... if you would.”

She smiled at him. “Just promise me you'll tell me if you need to stop.”

Fenris searched her eyes for a moment, before nodding. “You have my word.”

After that, the only sounds in the room was the crackle of the fire, soft moans, and panted breaths. Fenris undressed Hawke almost reverently, and she took equally care, as she helped him from his armour. There was no pretence, no teasing, just loving caresses until they were both bare; though Hawke took extra pains, to make sure she didn't accidentally catch one of Fenris' markings.

She coaxed Fenris to lay between her thighs; the hard length of him a delicious promise, as he rested against her. There was a moment's hesitation, where Hawke thought he needed to stop, but was hurriedly corrected... Fenris simple had no experience, especially when it came to being in a position of control.

Hawke smiled at him gently, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, as her hand snaked between them. She gave him a loving stroke, before turning attention to herself. Hawke knew her own body, and teased herself in the way she loved best; not the least embarrassed, when Fenris had sat back on his haunches, eagerly watching... learning... whilst he rubbed indistinct patterns across her thighs with his thumbs. As she neared her climax, she locked eyes with him before murmuring:

“Please.”

With only a little help, Fenris lined himself up, before quickly sliding himself to the hilt. Hawke's back arched from the bed, as she gasped her pleasure at the wonderful stretch of Fenris finally being inside her. He lay above her, propped up on his elbows, gazing at her with absolutely wonder. Smiling lovingly, Hawke craned her neck to plant several fleeting kisses to his unresisting lips. Fenris rested his forehead against hers, as he slowly began to move.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Fenris kissed her temple, before nuzzling the crook of her neck. And though his voice was muffled, she clearly heard him say:

“I love you too, Marian.”

 


	39. Defence (Fenris PoV)

Fenris had left Hawke at their usual table, surrounded by their friends; chatting to Varric, as he went to help Isabela at the bar. He ignored the knowing smile the pirate kept giving him, and valiantly didn't blush, when she pointed out that both he and Hawke seemed tired... Fenris knew what she was insinuating, and just because it was correct, didn't mean he had to admit it. To be honest, he was glad of the light hearted ribbing. Neither he nor Marian had wanted to hide their relationship, despite it being less than a day old, but their friends hand accepted it with grins. Either congratulating them, or stating it was 'about damned time'.

He was almost certain Varric had been running a bet on them getting together, but he didn't mind; especially since the dwarf had insisted on buying the first round of drinks, which Fenris and Isabela were carrying back to the table. Though when he noticed a certain ma... someone... had joined the group, he couldn't help scowl. Anders was now sat in what was his seat, shoulder pressed to Hawke's, though still talking loud enough for Fenris; if not the whole tavern, to hear.

“I know it's not my place to criticise, but... are you sure about Fenris? He seems less a man to me, more of a wild dog.”

If his hands hadn't been full carrying the tray of tray of beer, Fenris would have clenched his fist. He wanted to put said fist straight through the abomination's chest; but he didn't want to ruin Marian's night. She'd been so happy when they'd first arrived. However, he could clearly see her narrowing her eyes as she looked at Anders.

“Do _not_ call him that,” she hissed. “You don't know him.”

“Yeah, Blondie,” Varric agreed. “That's kinda out of line.”

“I know as much as I'm ever likely too,” Anders argued.

After carefully setting the tray on the rough table, Fenris went to stand behind Hawke; laying a gauntlet free hand on her shoulder. “That's right, mage.”

“You see that?! How can you be with someone who hates what you are?” the abomination demanded.

“It's a step up from what he usually calls you,” Merrill pointed out, in her usual carefree way. “He usually calls me witch... I'd prefer mage.”

Fenris inclined his head towards his fellow elf. If it wasn't for her diabolical use of blood magic, he supposed Merrill wouldn't be too bad, if not a little naïve... though perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. And over the years, he had noticed that Marian's influence had convinced the elf to step away from blood magic, proving she wasn't a completely lost cause, he supposed.

“I will bare that in mind,” he told her.

Anders shook his head. “He has let one bad experience colour his whole world. Surely, you want someone more open-minded?”

“An abomination and a hypocrite, what company you keep,” he said to Marian.

Though it didn't seem as if she'd heard him, since she was still glaring at Anders.

“One bad experience?” Hawke asked, her voice taking a dangerous edge.

Isabela gave a low whistle, before perching herself next to Merrill.

“Blondie... a bad experience is accidentally being singed by a stray fire ball,” Varric stated.

Merrill frowned. “But isn't everything you do, because of how you were treated by Templars?”

Fenris tried his best not to smirk at that.

“That's... that's not the same,” the abomination sputtered.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “I do not wish to add fuel to the fire, but I'm afraid it is. And what's more, we are all lead by our passed experiences.”

“Plus, Broody is trying to get along with mages,” Varric stated.

“We've had quite a few training sessions with Hawke,” Aveline smiled. “It's handy to have her enchant our weapons.”

“You know, Sandal would love to create runes for you both,” Marian stated, obviously wanting to steer the conversation into less volatile waters.

“But it's not the same as knowing you have my back,” Fenris smiled, looking down at her lovingly.

Merrill gave a dreamy sigh. “They're so good together... he wore her sash for three years, that's so romantic.”

Fenris couldn't help blushing, and hoped his ears weren't too red. He wasn't used to getting so much attention; not positive attention, at any rate. Marian must have noticed his discomfort, because she was quickly standing, only to usher him into her chair. Fenris couldn't help grinning when she sat back down on his lap, and not because it clearly annoyed the abomination.

His arms slid around Marian's waist, and he absent-mindedly kissed the back of her shoulder. He loved having her close, not caring for obvious looks they were getting. He knew they made a contrasting couple; and not just because of their different races. There was her porcelain pale Fereldan skin compared to his olive complexion. Her fiery hair against his snowy locks. Even the white silk of her blouse to the black cotton of his shirt. Really, the only thing remotely similar about them was their eye colour, but Fenris loved everything about her... about them, as a couple.

“I love you,” she whispered, into his sensitive ear.

He smiled up at her, before his hand gently slid to the back of her neck; pulling her down so he could taste her berry red lips. It was soft and fleeting, and he looked at her in utter adoration.

“I love you too.”

 


	40. Gift of Mercy (Fenris PoV)

It was late at night, and a fire crackled in her... in _their_ bedroom's hearth. Marian had been out all day, helping Aveline on her patrol, along with Varric; so Fenris had taken the opportunity to move his meager possession into the Hawke Estate. It had felt unnerving at first, and he'd worried what the other residents of the manor would think. However his concerns were unfounded; Bodahn greeted him warmly, and Orana hadn't stopped smiling. It was hard to tell what Sandal thought about anything... but both the boy and Hawke's mabari seemed happy enough.

And as if just think of Marian conjured her, she strode into the room; already trying the shuck out of her armour one handed. Fenris chuckled, immediately leaving his comfortable armchair, in favour of helping his fiancée disrobe. However, before you could even offer to help, Hawke was dragging a Great Sword into his line of sight.

“Take a look at this.”

Curious, Fenris took the sword from Marian's hands; determined not to comment how her dragging it had scuffed the bedroom floor. Still, his lips twitched to smile, when she gave a sigh of relief... obviously tired from carting the blade around with her; and Maker knew how far Hawke had lugged it. Probably miles, knowing Marian. She was a determined woman, he'd give her that. But his thoughts had distracted him, so after shaking his head, Fenris took a closer look at the Great Sword.

"A Blade of Mercy?” he wondered aloud, equal parts impressed and surprised. “I remember these... you see them in the Imperium, replicas of the sword that Archon Hessarian used to kill Andraste. This one looks finely crafted.”

Unabashed, Marian shed her armour whilst he talked, dropping them haphazardly on the floor in front of her armoire; making it painfully obvious what her thoughts were of the so called Champion's Armour. It let her dressed in only a silk undershirt, that barely reached her thighs, and not much else. Fenris took a moment to admire her long legs, before Marian winced; rolling her shoulder. Without thinking, he reached over with his free hand, and began to massage the offending muscles.

“I thought it might be worth something,” she sighed, tiredly.

“It is,” he assured. “Here, let me show you.”

With a gentle hand on her lower back, Fenris ushered Marian towards the heart. He knelt down on the plush, red rug, whilst Hawke leant over his shoulder. He paused to smile up at her, oddly excited to show her something he knew she hadn't seen before; after all, Marian had taught him to read, and it was a rare occasion Fenris got to return the favour. She rested her dainty hands on his shoulders, and he knew he didn't have to worry about her leaning too hard; Hawke was always mindful of his markings.

So confident that he had her attention, Fenris slowly ran his hand down the blade; the lyrium in his veins making the weapon's enchantments react. The blue markings on his hands glowed brightly, and the sword shone yellow in response. He heard Marian gasp, clearly not expecting that result, and tried to hide his smug smile... it really was a rare for her to be surprised by anything.

“These are gifts of honour,” Fenris explained. “Given to those who have performed a service for the Imperium. Danarius coveted them, as I recall.”

“You don't talk about the Imperium much?” she stated, hesitantly.

“It's not a place I remember fondly,” he admitted.

Marian gave a non-committal hum, before her clever fingers found their way into his hair. Gently, she started to tease through the white strands; and shutting his eyes, Fenris leant his head back against her stomach. Which prompted Hawke to start stroking his sensitive ears.

“How bad is the slave trade?” she asked, gently.

“It varies from Archon to Archon. One outlawed it many years ago... he was quickly assassinated.” Fenris stated, trying to control the anger. “Tevinter would crumble without slaves. The Imperium's elite know no other way.”

“Wouldn't a slave rebellion end that?”

“There are rebellions all the time, actually,” he explained, letting his eyes slip closed. “Most of them end... poorly. The senate always unites in the face of 'sedition'. One day, things will change. Then the magisters will see just how fragile their hold is.”

“Let's keep Kirkwall standing first, then we'll take on Tevinter.”

Fenris chuckled, not entirely convinced she was joking. “I wouldn't put it passed you, Hawke.”

She lightly tapped his nose, to get his attention, before nodding towards the blade. “I'd like you to have it.”

He sucked in a surprised breath, still unused to receiving gifts. “For me?”

Marian planted a kiss on his forehead. “I understand if you'd rather not, considering it's history. But we haven't updated your sword for a while, so if you can make use of it, I'd like you to have it.”

Fenris studied the blade, as he mulled over Hawke's suggestion in silence. Despite his hatred of anything from the Imperium, he knew the Great Sword was of excellent quality; much finer than the one he'd been using for the past few years. He also knew that Hawke wouldn't be offended, if he decided he wanted to sell it or melt it down; oddly, that made his decision much easier.

“Yes...” he said at last. “I think I'd like that. Thank you, Marian. I'll think of the irony as I wield it. ”

 


	41. Deeper Underground (Hawke PoV)

“Nate!”

Hawke watched, partially surprised and partially amused, as she watched the woman who was apparently her sister launch herself at the well built brunette, despite him practically dripping with darkspawn blood.

“Solona, what are you doing here?” he asked, hugging her back tightly.

“Looking for you, you idiot!”

Zevran stepped forward then. “You have been gone a month longer than expected, my friend. Are you really surprised our dear enchantress insisted on finding you?”

The brunette archer chuckled. “I suppose not, and you're both a sight for sore eyes.”

He looked up then, catching Hawke's gaze, before his eyes snapped back to Solona... obviously making the same connection everyone else had.

“And I see you brought reinforcements,” he continued. “You're the Champion of Kirkwall, aren't you? And Anders...?”

“Making friends as always, I see,” her fellow mage stated, gesturing to the slain darkspawn.

The brunette shook his head. “There's no escaping you, it seems.”

“I'm special that way,” Anders snarked.

“That's one way to put it,” the archer drawled.

Out the corner of her eye, Hawke noticed Fenris' lip twitch in the slightest hint of a smile. To her side, Varric shook his head, and she herself bit her lip to stop from laughing. She adored Anders, but she completely agreed with the brunette on that point.

“As much as I've missed you two snipping at each other, what happened here, Nate?” Solona asked. “Where are the others?”

“When we were attacked, I was separated from the rest of the expedition. Some of them may yet live.”

“Then we looked for them,” Solona stated, resolute.

After quickly glancing between her companions, Marian lay a hand on her sister's shoulder. “We'll help.”

“Crawling through darkspawn infested tunnels, looking for lost wardens... this was _exactly_ what I signed up for when I made friends with you, Hawke,” Varric drawled.

Zevran laughed. “Ah... it is good to see the same charm throughout the family, no?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to take a moment to say I'm really sorry how long it's taken to update this... just over a month! I never intended to take a mini hiatus, but things haven't been great this passed month, and ended with funerals for two close family friends this week. But hopefully, things are all back on track, and a normal updating schedule will resume. Thank you so much for your patience, and sorry it's such a short chapter. But I've not written at all since the last update, so just easing back into it!


	42. Beginning of the End (Fenris PoV)

It felt like they had barely escaped the Deep Roads; Solona and Zevran taking the wardens for treatment for various injuries, before they were plunged into another crisis... this time, they were once again thrown into the middle of the Mage/Templar drama that seemed to engulf the city.

Perhaps Fenris should have been listening more closely, but he'd been trying to remain more impartial, whenever the issue of Templars and Mages arose... however, he certainly noticed when Hawke's face went deathly pale, and Varric rested a hand on her lower back. Instinctively, Fenris switched from closely watching the Templars; making sure they didn't make a move to harm _his_ mage, to glaring at the abomination. He thought the man had been prattling on about his damn manifesto again, but then he heard Marian whisper:

“Anders, what have you done?”

Instinctively, Fenris stepped in front of Hawke, just as the abomination replied:

“There can be no turning back.”

He was about to draw his sword, thinking the mage's words were a threat to Hawke, when a beam of angry red light shot from the Chantry. The ground they stood on rumbled, and collectively, they all took a step back from the glowing building. Storm clouds began to swirl overhead, and Fenris looked to Hawke to see if she knew what was happening. Her usually vivid green eyes were widen in shock, as she stared at the spectacle with obvious horror. The tremors became more noticeable, and as Marian waved on her feet, Fenris reached out a hand to steady her. But before he could touch her, a loud explosion rocked the city. They were far enough away not to be affected by the blast, but they could clearly see the mushrooming dust cloud that filled the space where the Chantry had stood.

“Maker have mercy...” Meredith whispered.

Hawke clasped a hand over her mouth, as she continued to stare at the cloud that now engulfed the skyline. Merrill's eyes filled with tears as was watched the destruction, and Sebastian collapsed to his knees, crying out:

“Elthina! No! Maker no! She was your most faithful, your most beloved... Why didn't she listen to me?”

“There can be no peace,” Anders stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

Roused from her trance like starring, Hawke helped their friend to his feet, and Fenris shadowed her movements. Fearing that at any moment, the gathered Templars would turn on them, turn on _her._

“Blessed be the souls of the faithful,” Sebastian began to pray.

“That they ascend to your right hand,” Marian whispered with him.

Orsino whipped around to face the abomination, clearly incensed. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

“I removed the chance of compromise, because there is no compromise,” the abomination replied.

“The grand cleric has been slain by magic,” Meredith said, ominously. “The chantry destroyed. As knight-commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is the be executed, immediately.”

Fenris slowly reached up to take hold of the handle of his Great Sword, shifting his weight so he blocked the Templar's access to Hawke. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Varric heft Bianca in his arms, obviously having similar thoughts; no one would touch Marian.

Over the years, he had made his opinion on magic and mages perfectly clear; but he'd learnt, over time, that his hatred for all their kind was misguided. Hawke had shown him was a mage could be, should be... and he knew what Meredith planned to do was wrong. He remembered the frightened girl they'd found in the tunnels beneath the city, had understood why they killed the Templar that was threatening her. And as much as he hated to admit it, the longer he'd been in Kirkwall, Fenris could see that mages were treated not much better than slaves were back in the Imperium.

“The Circle didn't even do this! Champion, you can't let her! Help us stop this madness!” Orsino implored.

Meredith pointed at Hawke. “And I demand you stand with us! Even you must see that this outrage cannot be tolerated.”

Fenris bristled.

“This is madness, we must help the knight-commander,” Aveline stated.

Merrill gasped. “No! This wasn't their fault! You can't possibly want to slaughter innocent people, can you?”

“Why are we debating the Right of Annulment, when the monster who did this, is right here?” Sebastian demanded. “I swear to you, I will kill him.”

“It can't be stopped now,” Anders stated. “You have to chose, now.”

Fenris drew his great sword, itching for the chance to cut the bastard down. How dare he put Hawke in such a position, how dare he endanger her like this. He could feel the air around them heat up, as Marian fought to control her anger. Fenris took a chance to glance around the gathered groups, assessing where the most likely threat would come from. Their friends were all looking to Hawke, the Templars were looking amongst themselves; clearly not all on board with what their knight-commander had just announced, and most of the gathered mages had moved to huddle together... and although Fenris knew each and every mage had the potential to become power hungry abomination, even he had to admit, they reminded him more of frightened children right then.

Naturally, Hawke noticed that too, and she glanced over her shoulder to announce: “I won't let them slaughter all of you.”

“But what of Anders?” Sebastian demanded.

“Hawke, if you do this, I don't know if I can follow,” Aveline stated.

Fenris caught Marian's eye briefly, fear gathering in his gut, but already knowing her answer when he quietly asked: “You would throw yourself at a hopeless cause?”

Varric's voice was just as full of worry as his, when he queried: “You sure about this? You know I'm with you, Hawke, but even you might not win this fight.”

Merrill came to stand beside them. “I know we can do this, I believe in you Hawke.”

“Ah... shit,” their resident pirate muttered, as she took up her stance with them. “What have you got yourself into this time, Isabela?!”

“Think carefully, Champion,” Meredith threatened. “Stand with them and you share their fate.”

“I cannot stand by an let you murder innocent people,” Hawke replied, surprisingly calmly. “Anders is the one to blame, and he alone should face the consequences for his actions. The mages of the Circle had nothing to do with this.”

At her words, Sebastian moved to stand beside them as well. “Even in our grief, we must see reason. It is not the Maker's will, to punish those who have done nothing wrong.”

“Thank the Maker,” Orsino breathed.

To Fenris' surprise, Hawke lay a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear: “I understand if you can't do this, Fenris...”

He made his stance in front of her more prominent in reply. “I won't abandon you, Marian.”

Aveline gave a growl of frustration. “I see what you're trying to do, and my place... is with you, Hawke.”

“You are a fool, Champion,” Meredith spat. “Kill them all!”

* * *

In the resulting madness, the deranged knight-commander managed to flee the carnage. The fight was quick and brutal, but surprisingly, a number of the gathered Templars had refused to engage them; stating their oath was to protect the mages as well much as it was to defend the populace as a whole. They volunteered to help the gathered mages protect those left in the Circle; the hapless majority that didn't realise what was about to befall them.

Orsino quickly took his leave, hurrying back to the Gallows, and begging them to join him as soon as they'd dealt with their 'friend'. All eyes turned to Anders then, as Hawke made her way over to where to abomination was casually sitting, staring at nothing whilst ashes continued to rain down around them.

“There's nothing you can say, that I haven't already said to myself,” Anders muttered. “I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited.”

“No... it was the twisted want of a madman,” Hawke replied, her voice trembling with raw emotion.

“The world needs to see this,” Anders continued, as if he hadn't heard her. “Then we can all stop pretending the Circle is a solution, and if I pay for that with my life... then I pay.”

Almost helplessly, Hawke glanced over at the rest of them. Without thinking, Fenris was immediately at her side; itching to reach out to her, but not daring lest he fracture the tense atmosphere that surrounded them all.

“If I had been in that Chantry today, would you be waffling?” Sebastian asked, angrily. “You know what must be done.”

Isabela shrugged. “Bold plan, at least I thought so.”

“He wants to die,” Fenris found himself saying, heatedly. “Kill him and be done with it.”

“Belief is no excuse,” Aveline stated. “Sincerity doesn't justify... this!”

“He should come with us,” Merrill argued, tersely. “Do what he can to put things right.”

“I think I'm sick of Mages and Templars,” Varric muttered. “And none of this should have been put on you, Hawke.”

“Whatever you decide to do, just do it,” Anders said, still refusing to look at Hawke.

“Just... go,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Fenris could see the tears gathering in her eyes, even as Sebastian stormed up to them.

“No!” he yelled. “You cannot let this abomination walk free. He dies, or I am returning to Starkhaven. And I will bring such an army with me on my return, that there'll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!”

“Back off, Choir Boy,” Varric said in warning. “I don't agree with what Blondie did, but you shouldn't be placing that sort of burden on Hawke's shoulders.”

“Elthina deserves justice, as does everyone else who was in the Chantry,” Hawke stated, angrily. “But it is not my place to be judge, jury and executioner.”

“I would not deny anyone justice,” the abomination said, _still_ refusing to look at them. “The sooner I die, the sooner my name lives on for generations!”

Both Varric and Hawke gaped at Anders; Marian looking more horrified than Fenris had ever seen her. She blinked, and tears began to roll down her cheeks, even as she held her hand out to her best friend. For a moment, Fenris didn't understand what was happening, before he saw the solemn dwarf place a wickedly sharp dagger into her waiting hand. All at once, Fenris understood... Hawke didn't want to take Anders' life, but she would, to stop him hurting anyone else.

Without thinking, he quickly moved to take the knife from her; he couldn't let her live with that burned. Marian did everything... gave everything... for those she loved, and Fenris couldn't let her live with the guilt of killing a friend.

Hawke's eyes snapped open, tears continuing to roll silently down her porcelain cheeks, even as she looked at him in confusion. Fenris spared a moment to curl his free hand around the back of her neck, and rested his forehead against hers, looking into his subdued green eyes intently. He hoped she understood. He loved her, and would always try to protect her.

After a heartbeat, Fenris turned away, and silently approached the abomination; who still had his back to them. To his surprise, Hawke quickly moved to kneel in front of her fellow mage, taking Anders' hand in hers.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, hoarsely. “I hope you find your peace.”

At her words, Fenris plunged the dagger between the abomination's shoulder blades, expertly finding his heart through his ribs. As Anders' collapsed forward, Hawke caught him, and she held him as he drew his last breath. Though he had never liked the bastard, Fenris' chest tightened, as he watched the anguish cloud Marian's face. He swallowed thickly, unsure whether he should comfort her, considering he had played a part in her friend's demise. However, Varric beat him to it; gently laying a hand on her shoulder, and pulling her away from the abomination's lifeless body.

“It will never be enough, but it's a start,” Sebastian stated.

Fenris whipped around to face the man he considered a friend, furious he couldn't see how much Hawke was hurting. However, to his surprise, before he could say anything, Merrill of all people punch Sebastian square in the jaw.

“How invigorating,” Isabela drawled, but Fenris noticed she was slowly unsheathing her twin daggers.

“Before anyone does anything stupid, we'd best all head to the Gallows, and quick,” Varric advised. “It's going to be quite the show.”

Hawke nodded, solemnly. “We have innocent lives to protect.”

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Fenris clasped her gauntlet glad hand in his. “I am by your side, Marian. Always.”

 


	43. The Promise (Hawke PoV)

The fighting to and through the Gallows had been gruelling and exhausting. Anders madness and death weighed heavily on her conscious, but Hawke tried not to let it show. Of course, she caught Varric giving her more than one worried glance, and though he was less obvious, she knew Fenris had also been keeping a close eye on her.

But her heavy heart was nothing compared to the crazed plan the clearly insane Meredith was hoping to enact. They had a job to do, and innocent people to protect. Of course, there were plenty of Circle mages who were prepared to depend themselves, but there were also terrified children and the elderly to take care of.

Hawke had just finished discussing their strategy with Varric and Aveline, when she saw Fenris approach. He'd been busy shoring up the defences with Sebastian, and his expression was as serious as ever. Though his olive eyes softened, when she motioned for them to talk alone. He led her off to the side, managing to find a small alcove where they wouldn't be overheard.

“Here I am, about to defend these mages in a hopeless battle,” Fenris stated, quietly. But despite his sombre words, the corner of his mouth quirked in a tiny smile. “You lead me to strange places, Hawke.”

She couldn't help chuckle. “I'll take you to stranger places than this, just watch.”

“A tempting off,” he smile, before turning serious again. “I... may not get the chance to say this again.”

Unable to help herself, Hawke stepped forward, lacing her fingers with his. For a split second, she wished she could feel his skin against hers, just one last time, instead of their hands being encased in leather and metal. Especially when Fenris was having a hard time meeting her eye.

“Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Marian,” he continued, cupping her face with his free hand. “Promise me you won't die. I can't bare the thought of living without you.”

Hawke swallowed passed the lump in her throat. “I won't make that promise, unless you do.”

“Nothing is going to keep me from you.”

Fenris unexpectedly surged forward, the claws of his gauntlet incredibly gentle, was he cradled the back of her head. Hawke had a split second, where she caught the golden flecks in his intense olive eyes, before her own were slipping closed. She could smell the faint hint of perspiration beneath the scent of blood, metal and leather as Fenris drew her flush to his body. She could taste a copper tang as his tongue immediately started and urgent dance with hers, but Hawke didn't care. Though all too soon, Fenris was pulling away from her.

“Remember, you promised to marry me,” he said, as he rested his forehead against hers.

Hawke gave him a watery smile, feeling tears roll down her cheeks. “Right after this,” she promised. “Sebastian can marry us.”

“I'll hold you to that, Marian.”

 


	44. Aftermath (Fenris & Hawke PoV)

 

Blood seeped through Fenris' bare fingers, his gauntlets laying at his feet, as he applied pressure to the vicious wound on Hawke's bow drawing arm. Her mana was too drained, and her sister; Solona, was too busy healing the near fatal wound Meredith had caused to her husband.

For the hundredth time, Fenris cursed himself; angry he'd allowed Hawke to toss him the last potion earlier. And if the look on Varric's face was anything to go by, the dwarf was regretting allowed her from giving him their last poultice... their battle supplies were non-existent; even their last bandage was being used by Nathaniel, as he bound a deep gash on Isabela's thigh.

But then, a gauntleted hand appeared in his line of vision, offering a small jar of poultice. He glanced up to see that Templar Hawke spoke to; Cullen, and nodded his thanks. The Knight-Captain wasn't so bad, and had even stood with them in the end, helping to defeat the truly insane Meredith.

On it's own volition, his gaze snapped to the macabre glowing figure, that had once been the Knight-Commander; barely repressing a shudder... the red lyrium idol had been bad enough, a sword made of the stuff was even worse. But seeing a person transformed into a living statue of the vile stuff...

He must have been staring a little longer than he'd realised, because Fenris soon found himself being pushed away from Hawke. He turned to glare at the offender, but ended up staring in shock. Carver, of all people, was shouldering him out of the way. And though the ringing in his ears, thanks to an ill-timed dodge and a slight head wound, meant Fenris didn't catch all of what was said, he did realise the younger Hawke was chastising his sister for being injured; even as he took the poultice from Fenris' unresisting fingers, before bandaging her arm.

* * *

Hawke hissed in pain, as Carver tightly tied the bandage. Though managed a weak smile for her baby brother, as he helped her to her feet. She turned her attention to Fenris then, and ignoring is protests and warning about her health, Hawke used what mana she'd regained, to heal the head wound that had managed to tint his hair pink.

She glanced around the gallows, pointedly ignoring what Meredith had become, even as she rested a comforting hand on Varric's shoulder. His came to rest over hers, as they took stock of their ragtag group; that now seemed to include her brother as well as Solona, Zevran and Nathaniel. Thankfully, everyone seemed more or less in tact; despite the harrowing battle they'd just endured.

Her lips quirked in a parody of her usual smirk, when Cullen caught her eye.

“Champion... Hawke... you should leave. You too... Solona,” he added, glancing at the Hero of Fereldan. “There's no telling what the fall out will be from... this.”

There was no arguments from anyone else present, even the other Templars, so they made to leave; though not before Solona gave Cullen a kiss on the cheek, making him blush. Perhaps blood loss was making her a little giddy, but Hawke had a moment of 'fuck it', before she gave the Knight-Commander a peck on the other cheek, turning him an interesting shade of tomato.

A snicker or two could be heard from the gathered Templars, and Hawke bit her lip, trying not to laugh, when she first caught her sister's eye; as they slowly made their way out of the Gallows... wary of the other Templars suddenly disagreeing with Cullen. Though the sense of unease began to lessen, once they were at the foot of the stairs, and Varric bumped his shoulder into her side.

“Well, this was one for the books,” he teased; his tone was light, though there was a tightness to his eyes.

Understanding complete, Hawke offered him her most convincing grin. “You know me, Varric... I aim to please.”


	45. Union (Fenris & Hawke PoV)

The rain was steadily pouring, as their small band made their weary way along Dead Man's Pass. The mood was solemn, and not just from the gruelling battle, that was only a day behind them. No, it wasn't the shadow of Meredith and the Chantry explosion that hung over them, but the knowledge that once they'd cleared the mountain range, their small party would finally be parting ways.

Fenris could see how much it was weighing on Hawke, who had already lost so much, and had fought tooth and nail to keep their small band together; he hated Anders more than ever, despite his passing. As that bastard's actions had driven them to this point. Thanks to the abomination, the love of Fenris' life was loosing her family all over again.

Despite Knight-Captain Cullen letting them go, there was no telling what action or retribution the Chantry would send after them; even though nothing that had transpired was their fault... though no one was willing to risk Hawke's safety, when the world had spent the past decade dumping more and more trouble on her plate. But in a bid to do that, it had been decided that they should all part ways.

Solona, Zevran, Nathaniel and Carver were all heading to Amaranthine; where the Warden-Commander was Arlessa. Sebastian was unsurprisingly heading back to Starkhaven; with the hopes of reclaiming the throne. Aveline had offered to accompany Merrill back to the area around Lothering, whilst Bodahn, Sandal and Orana were heading to Denermin, along with Hawke's mabari, thanks to the merchant's ties with King Alistair.

Isabela had somehow already secured a ship in Hercinia, and was insisting on ferrying them, as well as Solona's and Bodahn's party, back to Fereldan.

Varric was adamant about staying around Kirkwall, in the hopes of proving Hawke with any information, if nothing else. However, he was planning to lay low in Wycome for a while first. Fenris and Hawke were going to accompany him to the outskirts, but from there, they were headed Maker-knew-where.

Which meant this unhappy trudge was the last time they would likely all be together, and oddly, Fenris' heart felt heavy with the knowledge... nothing could have ever made him like the abomination, but he'd oddly grown fond of the rest; even Merrill. It was a little surprising, but he had to admit, he would miss them... and if he felt like that, Fenris couldn't begin to imagine how Hawke was faring.

Suddenly, he felt a shoulder bump into his, and he glared through his sodden bangs at the offender; only slightly surprised to find Zevran beside him. Fenris bit back the urge to sigh. It wasn't that he didn't like his fellow elf, he just wasn't comfortable with how often he flirted with Hawke; despite Solona never batting an eyelash at his antics, it still made him uneasy... perhaps because Zevran was so much more adept at him, than he was. But that was beside the point.

“What is it?” he asked, a little gruffly.

Zevran offered him a surprisingly understanding smile. “Time is of the essence, no? And there is no time like the present.”

Fenris was about to demand what he meant, before he realised the rogue was looking passed him. Cautiously, he glanced over his shoulder, and immediately realised what Zevran was looking at; a large overhang of rock, that was sheltering the ground below from the deluge.

“Once we are clear of these mountains, it will be time to part, will it not?” the blonde continued. “It would be prudent then, to ask your Chantry fellow now, if he would do the honours.”

Immediately, Fenris understood, though he took a moment to consider, before nodding his agreement. “You may be right,” he conceded, before making his way over to Sebastian, as suspiciously as he could.

* * *

When she'd been little, Hawke had never been the type of girl to dream about her future wedding; that had been much more Bethany's forte. But still, the odd time the thought had crossed her mind... especially after Fenris had actually proposed... Hawke had certainly never pictured it like this.

There was no sunny day, no best dress, no bridesmaids, no flowers, no chantry, no hymns. They were on a cold, dreary mountain side. Wearing sopping wet clothes, that were caked in mud, stood under an overhang of rock, whilst the guests were all battle and travel worn.

However, she did have her best friend standing proudly by her side, grinning his most award winning smile. She had her closet and dearest friends with her, as well as her brother and long lost older sister. She had the man she loved, squeezing her hand like a life line, as their friend gave the final blessing; tying the tatty red sash Fenris had worn for all those years, tightly around their jumped hands, to signify their union.

And as far as Hawke was concerned, it was perfect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Lyrium Ghost is finally finished, after three years in the making! It also marks the end of the original set of stories I started back on FF.net, so finishing this was actually a really big deal for me, and kind of emotional.   
> I just wanted to thank everyone who has read this work, from the ones that followed me from FF, to those who joined me here. Thank you so very much for all your wonderful support, it's meant the world to me. Hopefully, I'll be able to tempt you with another story in the future, but for now, once again, thank you so very much for taking this journey with me.

**Author's Note:**

> My Hawke is a mage, though in game I use a mod that allows you to equip any gear, because:  
> 1\. I missed that from DAO  
> 2\. I always thought it stupid that an apostate is running round declaring she's an apostate in a city full of Templars. Never seemed a good idea to me.  
> Fenris' appearance is inspired by the DA2 mod from the 'Fenris Files' (found on Nexus Mods).


End file.
